


The Devil In Me

by ironspy



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Aftermath, Angst and Humor, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Movie(s), Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-02
Updated: 2013-04-20
Packaged: 2017-11-27 22:36:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 88,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/667240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ironspy/pseuds/ironspy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Manhattan invasion, Clint Barton is just about holding it together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Hangover

**Author's Note:**

> Coulson is dead in this fic, sorry Phil! Rating will bump to explicit in later chapters.

The nightmare was vivid; a fear-inducing ride through his own personal hell. Clint's entire body was flooded by someone else’s wicked desires, worming their way through his veins, streaming to his head. All his training meant nothing as Loki's corrupted visions claimed his mind as their own. But there was something else. Something that Clint never told the others, and didn't want to admit to himself. Whether it was intentional or not, something else stowed away when Loki touched his chest with that spear. There was a chaos of emotions but two stood champion above the rest. Rage and heartbreak. And they were powerful motivators.

Clint jolted awake, unconscious tears running down the side of his head. In the moments it took to realise he was safe in his room at Stark Tower, he’d managed to leap to his feet and stumble back against the wall. His eyes scanned the darkness wildly for demons that weren’t there until, after a few moments, reality started to return. Clint slid down the wall onto the cold floor, taking gulps of air like a drowning man breaking the surface of the water. He wiped away the rogue tears in defiance. World-class assassins don’t cry. World-class assassins don’t get fucking night terrors. Clint mentally gave himself ten seconds to get his act together. It took six.

He checked himself in the mirror before leaving for the communal kitchen. His eyes looked red but if anyone saw him he could pass it off as a hangover, or just lack of sleep. The team had gone out drinking the night before, their first proper celebration since Loki had been apprehended and the world saved, all that jazz. The shwarma didn’t count since there was no alcohol – at least that was the argument Tony used when he was trying to convince everyone to join him for a night on the town.

Since Stark had started work on the proposed Avengers Mansion, Fury had agreed it was a good idea for the team to regroup and stay together. Clint didn’t mind at all. As annoying as Tony was, he was a great host. He’d arranged more than ample living space for everyone, kitted out some communal areas and allowed everyone access to his labs and test ranges, which Clint and Natasha used for target practice. There was a gym for Cap, of course, not that he needed it. Bruce had more lab space and equipment than he’d even seen all in one place.

The kitchen was joined with a needlessly spacious lounge area, complete with obnoxiously large plasma screen and some ridiculously expensive furniture. The place was empty. At almost five in the morning, why wouldn’t it be? Clint had no intention of going back to sleep. He looked lazily through cupboards, not sure what he was trying to find. Some unopened chips and a coffee secured, he moved into the lounge and sunk into the sofa. It felt safer somehow than his own bed at this point. He needed noise, he needed distraction. He needed snacks. Clint flicked on the TV and fumbled for some chips when a sheepish voice came from behind.

“Oh, I didn’t expect to find anyone awake.”

Clint turned a little too fast regretted it when the nausea hit. “Me neither,” he told Bruce, who was hovering in the doorway, unsure of himself. Clint turned back towards the TV. “There’s coffee if you want it.”

“Thanks.” Bruce clattered in the kitchen for a bit before Clint saw him standing at the corner of the sofa with a mug in hand. “What are you watching?” the scientist asked.

“Nothing yet,” Clint replied. He could tell Banner was debating with himself whether or not to sit down, and Clint was happy to let him squirm for a bit before finally feeling sorry enough for the guy to say something.

“You’re making the place look untidy. Sit down, would ya?”

Bruce silently obeyed, sitting down at the far end. He didn’t look as comfortable as he should have on a sofa that probably cost more than Clint’s yearly salary but then, Clint had learned to make his home wherever he found himself. Somehow he doubted Banner found it as easy. He wordlessly offered the bag of chips to his new ridiculous-o-clock companion. Bruce took a handful from the bag.

The news was on. Shockingly enough, America hadn’t gotten bored of the Avengers story yet. Funny that. Clint, however, was fed up with all the furore and speculation. Mostly because it seemed to focus on Iron Man, Captain America and the Hulk. Sure, he didn’t particularly _want_ any media attention, but a passing mention might have been nice. He had helped saved the world, after all. _And helped almost destroy it,_ his conscience chimed in.

“The green guy gets all the glory,” Bruce said light-heartedly.

Clint laughed at Banner reading his thoughts. “Glory’s overrated,” he said, throwing some chips at the TV and changing the channel. An awful movie was on, the kind the show at gone four in the morning, but it was a fight scene so Clint left it on and dropped the remote. His hand was shaking. The smile vanished from his face as he quickly made a fist, glancing up to see if Bruce had noticed.

He had.

Clint faked a rueful smile. “Tequila,” he said simply.

Bruce raised his eyebrows. “Right,” he said, shying from asking any further questions into the matter. Clint was grateful.

“It was quite a night,” Bruce said, then pulled a face. “Very loud.”

Clint laughed again, remembering the scientist at the club they’d ended up at. He’d been forsaken by his wallflower buddy, Steve, who had been mobbed by appreciative young women. Bruce was left nursing a cranberry juice, or something equally lame, trying not to look out of place and failing miserably, Clint thought it was one hundred per cent adorable, which wasn’t something he’d expected to be thinking. But then, he had been pretty drunk. Yeah, that must have been it.

“If your ears don’t ring after a night out, you didn’t do it right,” Clint said, leaning forward to take a sip of coffee. It was disgusting - he never could get the hang of Stark’s coffee maker - but it made him feel marginally more awake at least. “The music was terrible though.”

“Didn’t seem to stop you from dancing,” Bruce teased. He seemed to be relaxing a little. No wonder. He had _leverage_.

“Oh god, I was _dancing_?” Clint asked incredulously.

“You don’t remember?”

Clint covered his face with his hands. “I am wholeheartedly sorry that you had to see that. Damn it, I knew Stark was feeding me doubles. I usually hold my liquor a lot better.”

It was a partial lie. Clint had ordered the doubles himself. He was drinking to forget. And it seemed he’d achieved his goal. He genuinely didn’t remember dancing, at all.

“No big deal,” Bruce smiled.  “You were pretty good.”

Clint honest to god felt himself blush a little. So much for the drunk theory. “Now I know you’re bullshitting me. I have physical evidence that I am the worst dancer on this planet.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Well, Natasha has,” Clint corrected. “CCTV from a night in Cuba. She blackmails me with it when she wants something.” It might have been Clint’s imagination but Bruce seemed to deflate a little at the mention of Natasha. He dismissed it and cleared his throat. “Anyway. How come you’re up?”

Bruce chose his words carefully. “I… I don’t sleep well in new places.”

Clint got the feeling Bruce could have stopped talking after ‘I don’t sleep well,’ and it would have still been accurate. “Fair enough,” he shrugged.

“What about you?” Bruce asked. “Figured you’d be worn out after your energetic display on the dance floor.”

Clint smirked involuntarily and his eyes wandered of their own accord. “Oh, come on Doc, it’d take more than that to wear me out.” _Oh god, are you objectifying a nuclear physicist right here in the lounge?_ Barton chided himself. His mind was still craving sleep; it was sluggish and, it turned out, still a little airy from the alcohol. He stared back into his coffee, mortified. Seeing the scientist was clearly struggling for a response to his vague innuendo, he quickly summoned a plausible answer to Banner’s perfectly reasonable question. “Guess I got the munchies,” Clint finally blurted out.

After an eternity of awkward silence, the film’s end titles were rolling on the plasma, and Clint seized the opportunity to make his exit before he made a bigger fool of himself.

“Uh, I think I’m gonna go…get some sleep.” Clint hauled himself up from the sofa, abandoning his half-empty coffee and the bag of chips. “Night, Doc. I’ll see you around.”

Bruce seemed surprised at the sudden rush of movement but got in a quick “good night,” before the archer hurried out the door.

As he made his way through the empty corridor, Clint ran his hands through his hair. _You really shouldn’t be let out at night,_ he told himself. He was headed back to his room but as he got closer a sense of dread started to rise in his gut. The thought of that bed, of those nightmares chilled him all over. A few seconds passed before he realised he’d been standing staring into thin air. It was an odd dilemma. _Go back to the lounge and deal with awkward new feelings about an irritatingly adorable man who could turn into a frighteningly large green monster, or go back to bed and face vividly reliving the way an evil, heartbroken god used you to try and kill your friends and start an alien invasion._ Both options were equally fucking terrifying, if he was honest. As it happened, neither came to fruition.

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

It was morning and they were waiting on Stark. Of course they were waiting on Stark. Fury had called a meeting. Thor was still offworld (it still amazed Clint that he could use that term in real life) but the Cap was there, five minutes early, still looking like awkward perfection despite the amount of alcohol he’d consumed the previous night. Clint wondered why Tony insisted on trying to get the super soldier drunk. At one point during the evening he was even talking with Bruce about synthesising some kind of enzyme to allow alcohol to have quadruple its effect. _“Then maybe we’d see your star banner spangle,”_ Tony had said ridiculously, causing him and Clint to burst into hysterical laughter for a good five minutes, despite it making no sense. They’d been quite tipsy at that stage.

Natasha arrived dead on time to the meeting, as punctual as always. Clint noticed the extent of Natasha’s hangover by the single strand of hair that she’d failed to tame before leaving her room. By the Russian’s standards that was pretty serious. Clint made a mental note to catch up with her after Fury had said whatever he was going to say. It was probably a reprimand for their behaviour last night, but Fury didn’t look on the right level of angry for Clint to be too concerned about it.

And of course, there was Bruce. A minute or two late, who knew why. Had he slept? He looked like he always did, dishevelled and working it. Banner was hard to figure out. Clint tried not to make eye contact so, naturally, that was the first thing he did. Bruce gave a slightly embarrassed smile. Clint pretended he hadn’t seen and turned his gaze to Stark, who was finally sauntering through the door, wearing his trademark aviators and oozing life.

Fury greeted him with a viciously hollow smile. “Mr. Stark. How kind of you to join us. I trust the traffic wasn’t too hectic for you, between this room and the room upstairs in which you reside?”

Stark returned his falsity with aplomb. “Thank _you_ , Mr. Fury, for the kind welcome. There was a rather buxom cleaning lady in the corridor. I did manage to manoeuvre round her but we both enjoyed it, I think.”

Normally Clint would be trying to stifle a smirk while Fury and Stark competed at the Sarcasm Olympics but this time he was barely listening. He found himself staring at the empty space beside Fury where Coulson should have been standing. They had toasted to him in one of the sober moments before the evening had begun. Clint had ordered a triple after that. Coulson’s funeral had been… well, how funerals are supposed to be. Awful. Heart-rending.

Guilt-ridden.

God, Clint knew everything people had told him was true. He was under Loki’s control, there was nothing he could have done, in war there are casualties, _it’s not your fault,_ but he only knew it in his head, not his heart. He should have been there. He should have fought harder. Coulson’s death would weigh on him for the rest of his life.

Fury had kept a lot of information from Clint about when he’d been under Loki’s spell. Clint remembered bits and pieces. He was sure he must have killed people, he was damn good at it and with Loki’s motivations, it was a devastating mesh. But Fury wouldn’t release the details. There had been a list of the dead, of course, memorials, funerals, ceremonies too, but Fury wouldn’t release the specifics to him. Clint wasn’t sure whether or not to be thankful for that.

Clint snapped out of his daze when he realised Fury had started the meeting. Luckily he hadn’t noticed Barton’s lack of attention but Banner had. He was staring. Clint shifted in his chair and Bruce broke his gaze.

“The evaluations are mandatory for…”

“Uh-uh, I don’t do shrinks,” Tony interjected. “Except for that one in Barcelona, but that’s not really relevant.”

“As I was saying, psychological evals are mandatory if you want to continue as a part of this Initiative.”

A slew of swear words ran through Clint’s mind. Evaluations? Someone getting inside his head was the last thing he needed. He was pretty damn good at hiding what need to be hidden, but if a shrink found out about the nightmares and the shaking, the lack of sleep, he’d be removed from active duty, no question about it. Then what would he do? Without SHIELD… it didn’t bear thinking about.

Stark carried on arguing, with Natasha staying quiet and Steve trying to calm things down. Bruce didn’t seem fussed about the evaluations, but uncomfortable at the raised voices around him.

Stark was about to get up and leave, the big drama queen, but Steve stopped him. “It’s not that big a deal, Tony,” he said. “They evaluated you before, didn’t they? And you’re still here.”

Tony seemed to think about it for a moment. “Fine. I’m not going to an office though, I have work to do.”

“She’ll come to you,” Fury said, patronisingly.

Stark seemed to perk up upon hearing the evaluator would be a she. Typical.

“I’ll let you know in advance the time of each of your appointments. Now, as for last night’s activities…”

“Sir, I’m sorry about the pool table,” Cap got in straight away. “I’ll pay for the damages. It was my-”

Fury raised his hand to stop Steve’s apology mid-flow. “I don’t need the details. I already have the details. What I _need_ is to know my new team of elite guardians of the peace aren’t getting drunk and disorderly,” he glared at Clint, “beating up lowlifes,” Natasha, “damaging property,” Steve, “and generally stirring up a media shitstorm.” Stark, obviously.

“Yeah, it was a pretty good night,” Tony grinned. “We should do it again some time.”

Fury looked like he might explode. After he’d yelled some more about media image and self-control, and after Steve had apologised about a hundred times for everybody’s behaviour, he let Banner, Stark and the Cap go. That left Natasha and Clint behind for what was sure to be another helping of chastising. Sure enough, there was an “I expect more of you,” and a “poor judgement,” followed by a “make an elite government organisation look like it employs dumbshit teenagers.”

That one hurt.

“Won’t happen again, Sir,” both agents said simultaneously.

“See that it doesn’t.” Fury shook his head and made his leave, leaving the room in silence.

“Coffee?” Natasha asked with a raised eyebrow.

“You read my mind.”

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

Rather than stay at the tower, the pair opted to venture out to their favourite hideout. A small independent café off the main thoroughfare that had the most obscene selection of coffee you could ever imagine.

After a long sip of her favourite blend, Natasha was the first to speak. “You look like crap.”

“Thanks. You have literally one hair out of place. How do you do that?” Clint let the smell of the coffee drift into his nostrils. It was like heaven in a cup, not like the stuff Stark's coffee maker/super computer spat out.

“Practice,” she replied, licking her fingers and smoothing her parting. And like that, the barely-there tell was gone.

“Right.”

Tasha smiled mischievously. “So…”

“What?” Clint asked. That smile was always worrying. Did she have something on him or was she just fishing? He didn’t recall seeing Natasha much last night, not after the initial drinks, but then, he didn’t remember much at all.

“Did you talk to him yet?”

Clint didn’t like where this was going. “Who?”

The name he didn’t want to hear. How could it have been anyone else?

“Banner.”

Clint felt his stomach knot. He tried his best to hide it in his words. “What do you mean?”

Natasha studied his face and Clint felt like he was being undressed and prodded by a scientist, and not in a good way.

“You don’t remember,” Tash deduced.

“Guess not,” Clint said, trying to act nonchalantly.

The corner of Natasha’s mouth curled into a smile. “You were all over him.”

Clint inhaled and proceeded to choke on his coffee. “I… what?” he spluttered between coughs.

“I saw you cornering him on the way to the men’s room,” Natasha said, “whispering sweet nothings in his ear. He looked like a deer caught in headlights.”

Clint just stared at her in horror. No wonder Banner had been so uncomfortable when he’d run into him last night. Clint screwed up his face, running through the conversation on the sofa on fast forward. _Coming onto your colleague at four in the morning, after molesting him at a club, probably still smelling like a liquor store. Real classy, Barton._

“To be fair, he couldn’t take his eyes off you either,” Tasha continued, and god help Clint if his heart didn’t skip a beat. “Though that might have been because you looked like you were having some kind of seizure on the dance floor.”

“Oh my god,” Clint moaned. “Can this day get any worse?”

As if the universe was replying to the rhetorical question with a big fat ‘ _yes’_ , Clint’s phone chimed. It was a text.

AGENT BARTON - REPORT TO DR. MARLOWE TOMORROW AT 1400 FOR YOUR EVALUATION.

Clint rubbed the back of his neck and stared at the words in the hopes they’d somehow disappear or magically change into a promo code for free bagels.

“Evaluation?” Tasha asked.

“Tomorrow,” Clint confirmed. “Fuck.”

“Could be worse,” Tasha chimed. “Could have been today.”

That much was true, Clint thought.

Natasha leaned back in her seat, breathing in the steam from her cup. “I love these things,” she mused. “Last time I got this guy crying about his mother onto his three hundred dollar shirt.” She smirked very subtly. “I think he quit,” she added.

“Wanna take mine for me?” Clint asked sarcastically.

“You’ll be fine.”

Clint wanted to tell her she was wrong. He wanted to tell her everything; about the nightmares, the guilt over Coulson and the likely countless others, about the shakes, the rage and heartbreak… Natasha was just about the only person he trusted completely; they’d been through a lot together. She was the strongest person he knew, in all senses of the word. But no words passed his lips, no secrets came tumbling out. How could he explain something he could barely face up to himself? No. There was nothing Tasha could do anyway; there was nothing anyone could do. He just needed to get his shit together.

“You’re right,” Clint said. “But just in case, why don’t you tell me what you said to make your guy cry. It could come in handy.”

Natasha smiled and Clint returned it, his cheery façade firmly in place.

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

The shooting range was bound to clear his head. When Clint held that bow and had his eyes on a target, the rest of the world fell away. It helped that the place was empty too. Tony mostly used the area to test out his suit’s weapons but his attention was generally on the Avengers mansion these days. He’d be there or in his lab.

Clint set the targets at a reasonable distance and moved into position. He readied an arrow, steadied the recurve bow, calmed his breath and focused. But while his mind was obeying his years of training, his hands were not. They were trembling again. Clint relaxed the string and dropped the bow to his side. He tried to shake out the tremor, stretching his fingers out then making a fist. Taking another deep breath, he raised the bow once again.

The target was a paper outline with reducing lines inside. The head and heart were marked. Clint began to imagine the target was Loki. The room began to fall away, instead replaced with the penthouse where they’d found him sitting there, beaten but breathing, destruction all around him. Clint wanted to watch the arrow sink straight though his skull.

In the adrenaline of the battle, it had been easy shooting at Loki on whatever the hell those flying things were. And it had felt damn good when it exploded in his face. He wanted the asshole to suffer for what he’d done. But since the calm after the storm there was something at the back of his mind, a creeping part of him that actually felt something for that evil bastard. It was like his mind was fractured still. Even though Loki’s spell had been knocked out of him, fragments remained; seeds of disquiet that were trying to root a sympathy for the son of a bitch. Clint didn’t want that burden. He didn’t want to understand Loki. Loki was the enemy; he murdered people. He murdered Coulson.

Clint had been holding his breath so long it had run out. He stole another one and re-aimed. He could do this. He just needed to clear his head, purge these damn remnants.

The second he was about to release the arrow, he felt a presence behind him, impossibly close, icy breath on his neck. A voice he wished he could forget.

_“You have heart.”_

Clint freaked the fuck out, spinning around the releasing the arrow, automatically reaching for another from the quiver on his back. The lethal projectile shot past where the intruder should have been standing and instead embedded itself right next to Bruce Banner’s head.

Clint’s eyes were wide with fear, tearing the room apart for the source of the voice. but there was no-one but Bruce. The scientist stood there completely, justifiably, dumbfounded. He seemed in shock, and in retrospect Clint would realise that was the only thing stopping the Hulk from showing up.

“Jesus fuck!” Clint exclaimed, his heart beating double time. His legs felt like they were going to give way underneath him.

Bruce looked at the arrow, half of it protruding from the wall, slowly realising it could have easily been his head. Would Banner have hulked out if it had hit him? Or would Clint have just killed one of the most brilliant scientists in either hemisphere?

“Sorry,” Bruce said, still in disbelief at what had just occurred.

After a beat, Clint let out a burst of laughter, to his own surprise. “Shit, Banner. I almost shot an arrow through your skull and _you’re_ apologising?”

Bruce laughed nervously. “I thought I’d wait till you were done in case I startled you. Guess that didn’t work out so well.”

 _Actually, I was having a mental breakdown,_ Clint thought grimly, _but that actually makes much more sense._ He returned the second arrow to his quiver and walked over to the wall where the other had hit. Bruce was still standing beside it, unsure of how to react.

Clint studied him. “You’re not gonna hulk out on me, are you?”

“Not this time,” Bruce replied, apparently taking the whole near death experience pretty well.

Clint realised he was staring into the other man’s eyes and quickly took a step back. “Listen, uh… shit, I’m sorry about this,” he said, holding the arrow up to pointlessly clarify. He tucked it back into the quiver. “Guess I’m kinda edgy lately.”

“It’s okay,” Bruce replied. “Everyone’s been through a lot, right? It’s not every day an insane god leads an alien invasion through New York.”

“Yeah,” Clint replied, pondering how absurd it all sounded.

“And being under Loki’s control like that…” Bruce trailed off when Clint’s eyes snapped up. “Sorry. You probably just want to forget about it.”

Clint couldn’t believe how many times Bruce apologised in a conversation. He wasn’t sure if it was annoying or endearing.

“Don’t be sorry,” Clint told him. “I’m the one who owes you an apology.” He started to put his bow back in its case. “First I sexually harass you at a nightclub then I almost shoot you in the head. Guess I’m kind of giving off mixed signals.”

Bruce smiled, his cheeks flushing a little. “You remember that, huh?”

“I was reminded.” Clint finished securing his bow safely away in its case and suddenly felt very exposed with nothing to occupy his hands. His shoved them in his pockets for lack of a better idea. “Look, I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable or…”

“You didn’t!” Bruce suddenly exclaimed. Then recoiled. “Well, you did.”

“Oh, okay. Thanks for clearing that up.”

“What I mean is… what I came here to ask was… I was wondering if… were you just acting like that because you were drunk? I mean, if I wasn’t there, would it have been… would you have…”

Clint felt his heart beat a little faster. If he was successfully decoding his bumbling scientist speak correctly, Bruce was asking if he was interested. And it came as quite a shock to Clint that he really kind of was. The sudden urge to put Bruce out of his misery with a spontaneous kiss was killed in its infancy by a piercing alarm and Jarvis’s voice coming over the comm system.

“Sorry to interrupt, Sirs, but a fire has broken out in Mr. Stark’s laboratory.”

“Oh my god, is he in there?” Bruce asked, almost relieved at the excuse to stop his rambling. He looked unnecessarily at the ceiling, like Jarvis was the voice of God. They all did it.

“Yes,” the computerised Brit replied. “However, I am unable to get a response. He appears to be unconscious.”

Clint and Bruce exchanged glances, silently acknowledging their conversation would have to wait. Both men rushed out, heading for the elevator to get to Stark’s lab.

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

Desperate shouting echoed down the corridor when the elevator doors parted.

“Jarvis, open the door!” It was Steve.

“I am unable to comply, Sir. My safety protocols are unresponsive.”

“So is Tony, for god’s sake! He’s going to suffocate!”

Clint and Bruce arrived on the scene. Steve was trying to pry the slide door to the lab open and seemingly having no success. Natasha was standing by holding a fire extinguisher.

“What’s going on?” Clint asked.

Steve stopped his vain efforts. “Fire. Tony’s trapped in there. The damn door won’t open!”

Clint peered through the glass and spotted Tony lying unconscious on the floor. There were two small fires; one on one of the workbenches and the other on the floor below it, where it appeared some chemicals had leaked. The smoke was oddly dark and was slowly filling up the room. “Jarvis?”

“As I said, there is a fault in the door’s security release I am unable to rectify,” Jarvis replied, a classic hint of borderline irritation in his tone.

“So, in other words, the damn door won’t open,” Clint said. Now everyone was caught up. “There must be a way. We can’t force it?”

“We tried. The glass won’t break either,” Tasha said. “It’s Stark Tech, better than bullet-proof.”

Steve shook his head. “The whole thing’s designed to withstand penetration from the outside.”

Oh how Clint wished Tony were conscious to hear that one.

“I could do it,” Bruce chimed in. “I mean… the other guy could. He saved Tony before, right? Might be a little excessive but… just an idea.” He shrugged lightly as if apologising for interrupting.

Everyone looked at him, then at each other.

“We don’t have much choice,” Clint said. “Time’s running out.”

Steve looked through to Tony one last time before agreeing. “Okay. Clint, get a tranquilliser gun from the other lab. When the door’s open, if things don’t go to plan, I’ll lead the Hulk back out this way, right to you. Calm him down. Natasha, get Tony out, deal with the fire. The medics should be here any minute.”

Everyone nodded in understanding.

“I’ll be waiting for ya, Jade Jaws,” Clint said to Bruce, so only he could hear. He winked. “You too, Doc.”

Bruce blushed furiously, then started to turn a delightful shade of green.

 

End of Chapter One


	2. The Hangover Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I appreciate all the feedback :D

Bruce hated waking up. It was a strange thing to hate for most but he had his obvious, green tinted reasons. It was the fear that he hated, and the questions he had to ask himself. _Where am I? Am I safe? What did I do? Did I hurt anyone?_ Sometimes he’d lie with his eyes closed and try to put off answering these questions for as long as possible. But they found him eventually. Sounds and smells would drift by, answering some. Flashes of memories that weren’t his but still resided in his head.

He could hear a steady drip, smell sterile air, hear hushed voices too distant to make out. He felt safe. He ached, but not as much as he was used to. There were definitely drugs involved in this equation. They were very much welcome.

“This is ridiculous. I inhaled smoke, I was not mauled by a bear, I did not fall from a building or get hit by a truck. This is like a stubbed toe.  A little shock. I wasn’t even on fire.”

Bruce smirked sleepily at the familiar voice. Tony was okay. Bruce imagined he was the worst patient to ever grace whatever medical facility they were in, but he was okay.

“That shock nearly killed you.”

Bruce recognised the second voice as that of Pepper Potts. Bruce had met her a few times. She seemed nice. High strung. How she put up with Stark was entirely beyond him.

“I’m fine,” Tony insisted.

“Well, as much as I trust your years of medical training… oh wait, that was the other guy who was just in here. The doctor,” Pepper said.

“That’s actually very funny,” Tony retorted. “You know, I could probably become a doctor in my spare time. It can’t be that hard.” His point might had had more of an impact had he not broken into a coughing fit, trying in vain to hold it in.

“Put your mask back on,” Pepper ordered. Bruce could practically hear her roll her eyes. “I’ll go and get you some ice chips.”

Pepper’s heels clicked on the floor as she strolled by.

After a beat, Tony broke the silence. “Hey, Banner, you big faker.” His voice was hoarse but full of the same personality.

Bruce smiled. “Just resting my eyes.”

“You ought to be on the drugs they gave you,” Tony said, then made a noise that could only be described as an annoyed grunt. “All I got was oxygen. Boring. You’re hogging all the good stuff.”

“Oh come on, Tony,” Bruce said, feeling pleasantly light-headed. “You weren’t even on fire.”

Stark laughed, then coughed, then laughed some more.

When Bruce managed to keep his eyes open for a decent length of time, he took in his environment. They were in a spacious hospital room bathes in artificial light. No windows. There were some plastic ferns and generic painting of boats and forests on the walls.

When Tony finished coughing and could speak again, he explained what had transpired; filling in the blanks with what Steve had told him. “Something short circuited in my experiment, still trying to figure that one out. Anyway, I got knocked out and the fire started,” Tony surmised.

“And the doors?” Bruce asked. “Jarvis couldn’t open them.”

“Right.  Didn’t seem to be a problem for our green friend, though. Nor did the wall,” Tony told him. “Natasha slipped me out from under your nose. Capsicle laid some breadcrumbs for you to follow and Legolas took the Other Guy out with a tranq gun. Happy families.”

Bruce’s breath hitched a little at the mention of Clint - or at least it did when caught up with Tony's relentless nicknames and realised who ‘Legolas’ referred to.

“That’s all I know. I woke up in this sorry excuse for a hospital with Steve and Pepper hovering over me making scrunchy faces.”

It might have occurred to Bruce that no-one had been hovering over him when he awoke, had he not been so used to the loneliness that came with his condition.

“Barton was flicking stuff at me,” Stark mentioned as an afterthought.

Clint had been here. An influx of questions stirred in Bruce’s head. Was Clint there for him? Or to see if Tony was alright? He wanted to finish the conversation they’d started at the shooting range but he wasn’t sure how he wanted it to end. He’d run through all the possibilities in his head a hundred times (though somehow he’d skipped over the possibility of Clint shooting at him); Clint laughing in his face, explaining he was flirtatious with everyone, he was seeing Agent Romanoff, he didn’t swing that way, he was just blind drunk, it was a bet… if any of these reasons came up Bruce already decided he could handle it. It would probably be best for everyone. What was he thinking, anyway? The notion of starting up a relationship with anyone, let alone a man trained to kill people, whom he hardly knew; a member of the same volatile team of ‘superheroes’ he was a part of? It was a terrible idea. A dangerous idea.

But Bruce remembered Clint winking at him just before he’d let the Hulk loose, saying he’d be waiting. Whatever the meaning behind it, the silly little gesture had stirred up a pang of excitement Bruce had forgotten could exist. It had been a long time since he’d been attracted to anyone…

“Hey, Banner, you still in there?” Tony said, snapping his fingers to get Bruce’s attention.

“Yeah,” Bruce replied, putting his indecision to the back of his head. “Sorry about your lab.”

Tony waved a hand to dismiss his apology. “Hey, I said I was a fan, remember? I’m sorry I missed it. It’s mostly superficial damage. The guys just finished repairing the Loki-shaped craters in the penthouse floor, so they can just catch it on the way out.”

Bruce wasn’t sure if Tony was making light of the damage to make him feel better, or he truly didn’t care. He wondered what it must be like to have so much money to your name that you didn’t bat an eyelid when it came to building mansions and repairing skyscrapers.

“Where are we, anyway?” Bruce asked, realising he still had no idea.

“Seven storeys under Manhattan,” Agent Hill said as she entered the room. Pepper was with her. “In a SHIELD facility not far from Stark Tower.”

“Sneaky. How many of these have you got?” Tony asked.

“That’s clas-.”

“Classified. Whatever.” Tony gave a shrug that could only have meant ‘I’ll hack into your systems and find out later if it pleases me.’ Sure enough, he followed it up with: “I’ll look it up later.”

Pepper slapped Tony’s arm lightly, then gave him the ice chips she’d been to get. “Behave.”

“I came to give you an update. Dr. Banner, you’re free to go whenever you feel ready,” Hill told Bruce. The Agent sighed wearily when she turned to Tony. “Mr. Stark, you’re in until the doctor clears you.”

“Can’t I sign out AMA or ABC or whatever it is that let’s me get the hell out of here now?”

“If that’s what you want, we won’t stop you,” Hill said.

“But I will,” Pepper chimed in.

Tony shrank ever so slightly.

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

A few hours later Bruce was back at Stark Tower. Agent Hill had escorted him once he was feeling like a normal, not high person. Tony was still there, convinced the long waiting time was Fury trying to steal specs on the ARC reactor in his chest. Bruce wouldn’t have put it past SHIELD but Pepper insisted she and Steve made sure no-one took advantage while he was vulnerable.

Bruce took an elevator up to Tony’s lab. He wasn’t sure why he felt the need to see what damage had been done. Maybe he was a masochist and needed a healthy dose of guilt, or maybe he was just putting off seeking out Clint and finishing their conversation.

When he reached his destination, it was about as bad as he expected. A few SHIELD personnel and contractors were hovering around debris-strewn corridors. Steve was in the lab, making sure no-one messed with Tony’s experiments. They’d formed an odd friendship after Tony’s kamikaze run into the portal that day. It was unlikely but endearing. To be honest, Bruce hadn’t expected to like Tony after all he’d heard, but the guy had such an effortless charm, it was like a spell you were powerless to resist. Plus the scientific theories they’d discuss were some of the most interesting conversations Bruce had ever had.

As for Steve, well he was impossible not to get along with. But ‘get along’ was all they seemed to do so far. He was a living legend, a man out of time, he was _Captain America_ for crying out loud. It was difficult to know how to talk to someone whose reputation preceded him for seventy years. For that reason and others, Bruce didn’t make his presence known. Steve seemed busy, and Bruce wasn’t really in the right frame of mind to talk to anyone. At least that’s what he told himself, frequently.

Bruce carefully walked through the corridor to the other lab where Clint had taken out the Hulk. It was strange to have no-one pay him any mind, even though they knew who – what he was. He’d caused the damage they were assessing, and yet they barely gave him a second glance.

Some of the experiments had been destroyed. Bruce couldn’t identify them all. Glass cracked under his feet as he wandered around the room.

“Hey, Freckles,” a voice from behind him said.

Bruce turned to see Clint standing in what was left of the doorway. “Oh, hey,” he replied, subconsciously pushing his glasses up. Had Clint always called him Freckles? He kind of liked it.

“JARVIS said you were here. I went to the fake hospital but Fury insisted on a debrief,” he explained. His demeanour was contrarily relaxed in the chaos that surrounded him. “What are you doing here?” It wasn’t a demand, just a curiosity.

“I, uh, came to see the damage,” Bruce replied.

“Stark tell you what happened?”

“Yeah, most of it. Thanks for uh… you know.” Bruce mimed holding a gun and firing.

Clint kindly suppressed a laugh at the awkward effort. “No problem. That’s twice I shot at you today. Lucky I missed the first time.”

Bruce raised his eyebrows.

“Too soon to laugh about it? Gotcha,” Clint said, and wasted no time moving on. “Anyway, you saved his life. Again. It was pretty awesome.”

Bruce looked away. “Thanks,” he said half-heartedly. He couldn’t explain how strange it was to hear about the Hulk saving lives. His being was so synonymous with destruction; Bruce sometimes found it impossible to believe he could do good.

Clint seemed to mirror his awkwardness. _Oh god_ , Bruce though, _it’s contagious?_

“So… you’re okay?” Clint asked. “Changing back must be…” he trailed off. “I have no idea.”

Bruce smiled. It was a sweet sentiment. “I don’t remember much about changing. Occasionally I’ll remember snippets and it’s… it hurts. So I’m fine with the whole not remembering thing,” he said.

Clint relaxed a little. “Oh. That’s good. Right?”

Bruce nodded.

“Why are you here again?” Clint suddenly asked.

Bruce was taken off guard. Words failed him. “I don’t really know.”

Clint didn’t seem to mind the non-answer. “Okay,” he said. “What are you doing later?”

“Huh?” Bruce had heard the question but his brain seemed to want to stall for a minute to process it. “Um, nothing, I don’t think.”

“Good,” Clint said, looking accomplished. “Meet me on the roof at twenty hundred. I wanna show you something.”

Clint didn’t leave any time for arguing, and dashed off out the door, leaving Bruce bewildered. _That_ he certainly hadn’t expected. Had he just agreed to a date? Before he could ponder the question further, Clint leaned back round the door.

“By the way, that’s eight o’clock,” he said.

He disappeared again.

Then reappeared. “That’s PM.”

“I got it,” Bruce assured.

Clint smiled impossibly wide. “See you then.”

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

After an hour or three debating about whether or not the rooftop meeting was a date, on what to wear, what not to wear, should he bring anything, was this a bad idea, did he deserve this, Bruce finally realised it was five minutes to eight and he wasn’t wearing any pants. He looked at the three pairs he’d laid out on the bed and decided he really needed to go shopping, because quite frankly, they were all the same pair of pants.

Bruce watched the elevator buttons light up in sequence as he ascended in the elevator, his nervousness gaining with each one. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been on dates before - he’d been told he came off as quite charming, at least before the Hulk -  but this felt different. Clint had a way of disarming him. Whether or not this was a good thing remained to be seen.

Finally he reached the roof a few minutes past the hour. The wind rushed at him as soon as he opened the door. It was twilight so it took his eyes a few seconds to adjust and see Clint standing by the edge, his silhouette impossibly perfect. He stole a few guilty moments just to stare, until Clint finally snapped out of whatever daze he was in and turned around. To Bruce’s dismay he didn’t look happy for the first moment – like he was troubled by something – but when he saw Bruce his face lit up, which Bruce couldn’t help but mirror.

“You’re just in time, come here,” Clint said, beckoning.

On the deck there were two fold-away chairs and a table set up around a expensive-looking telescope. A cooler sat on the floor tucked behind the small table. Bruce walked past them to stand next to Clint.

“What am I in time for?”

Clint looked at his watch and raised his other hand. He pointed out into the city.

“This.”

The streetlights came on.

Clint moved his hand to another area and sure enough, the lights illuminated the street on cue. Three more times and the whole city was alive with a beautiful artificial glow.

Bruce grinned. “Wow.” It was pretty cool. “You’ve pretended you’re a wizard while doing this, haven’t you.”

“That would be juvenile,” Clint denied. “I pretend I’m a Cortexiphan kid.”

Bruce laughed though he didn’t understand. “A what?”

“I’ll lend you the boxset,” Clint said. “You’ll love it. Lots of science.”

Bruce nodded. “Oh. Big fan of that.”

Stark Tower really did have an amazing view of the city. When the repairs to the streets and buildings had been complete Bruce was sure it would be even better. Manhattan was resilient. She was healing fast.

“Do you come up here a lot?” As soon as Bruce said it he realised it sounded like a cheesy pick-up line.

Clint didn’t seem to notice, or care. “I like to watch the city. Makes me feel like a part of something, you know?” he said. Then rolled his eyes. “That made me sound like some hipster asshole, didn’t it?”

“No it didn’t,” Bruce laughed. “It’s important to feel like you belong somewhere.”  Fearing he too sounded a little Hallmark, he added: “Plus I don’t think anyone could ever mistake you for a hipster.”

“Even if I wore a flowery dress and took polaroids of empty swings?” Clint asked.

Bruce pretended to consider it. “I think they’d just think you were insane.”

“Hm. Jury’s out on that already,” Clint said lightly. Bruce thought he saw a flash of worry in his eyes. It must have been his imagination. Clint didn’t seem to worry about anything. “Anyway,” Clint continued. “The lights were the opening act. This is the main attraction.” He stepped over to the telescope and made some adjustments to it.

“Dare I ask?”

“It’s not aimed at changing rooms, Bruce. You have a filthy mind.”

As Clint was peering through the sight, moving the scope into position, Bruce noticed something. A dark bruise spread across three of knuckles and fingers, a few flecks of blood scattering across it from a graze. “What happened to your hand?” he asked, concerned.

Clint looked at it as if he’d forgotten. His smile faded. “Oh, it’s nothing.”

Bruce didn’t remember seeing it before the lab incident. Not that he’d admit he spent more time than was proper staring at Clint’s arms. “Did you do that trying to stop the Other Guy?” he asked.

Clint looked like he was searching for the right thing to say.

Bruce wasn’t going to let him say anything. “Oh my god, I didn’t even ask you if you were okay,” he realised aloud. “I’m so sorry. I was so wrapped up in… you had to stop-”

“Bruce…”

“I’m so sor-”

“Bruce, if you apologise one more time, I’m going to throw you off this roof and watch you hulk all the way down. I’m okay. This is nothing, I promise.” Clint waggled his fingers to prove a point. “See? Fine and dandy.”

Bruce still felt like shit but smiled despite himself. “Dandy?” he repeated, amused at that word coming from Clint’s mouth.

“And fine,” Clint confirmed.

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

Before he knew what was happening Clint’s lips were on his, smiling as he stole a light kiss. It lasted only a second but Bruce felt a thrill wash over him all the same.

Clint broke away and started talking again, grinning like a lunatic. “Check this out, there’s a security guard that dances through this gallery every night while he’s locking up.” He started adjusting the telescope.

Bruce just stared at him, wondering what to say. After a few seconds he decided to just roll with it. “Is he any good?” he asked, looking through the telescope.

“Better than I am.”

“That isn’t saying much.”

Clint shoved him gently. “Asshole.”

Bruce watched the guard dance like no-one was watching. He was indeed terrible. “At least he enjoys his work.”

The guard danced out of sight.

“What else you got?” Bruce asked.

“Not impressed? Well, I haven’t seen any murders a la Rear Window yet but there’s a chick in the high rise over there who, I swear to god, has at least twenty-five cats,” Clint told him enthusiastically.

“I didn’t think crazy cat ladies really existed,” Bruce said, trying to find the aforementioned high rise with the telescope.

“Well, I can only _assume_ she’s crazy,” Clint said, leaning over and helping move the telescope to the right area. “She does have twenty-five cats.”

Bruce’s skin tingled as he felt the warmth from Clint’s body.

“Do you think people are watching us through a telescope right now?” Bruce pondered aloud.

“Oh I’m sure they are,” Clint replied confidently and without care. “We’re hot gossip, remember?”

Bruce stood up when he failed to find a single cat. “How could I forget?”

“Maybe we should give them something to see.” There was a devilish shine in Clint’s eyes.

“Like wh-”

Clint suddenly stepped into Bruce’s personal space, slipping one hand round the back of his neck and the other on his hip, pulling him in close. Then their lips met again only this time it wasn’t quite so innocent as Clint slipped his tongue into Bruce’s mouth. Bruce felt like his whole body was on fire as the kiss got deeper and suddenly hands were moving into his hair and snaking down. Bruce automatically put his own hands on Clint’s waist, shifting naturally into the kiss.

It lasted until they had to stop for air. Clint licked his lips. “Damn,” was all he said.

Bruce cleared his throat, mentally processing. Or trying to, at least. His brain kept stalling for words and for some reason settled on: “So… uh. You and Natasha aren’t…” He swallowed.

Clint raised an eyebrow but remained where he was, impossibly close. “Are you seriously asking me if I’m seeing someone else while my hands are on your ass?”

“You only have one hand on my ass,” Bruce corrected.

“Oh. Sorry.” Clint’s right hand joined his left below the belt. “Better?”

Bruce, one of the smartest people on the planet, made a noise akin to “nnhuum.”

“No, I am not seeing Natasha, or anyone. But I would very much like to see you. In any capacity. In all capacities.”

Bruce tensed up involuntarily. It was only slight but Clint clearly noticed. He stepped back, his hands falling away. Bruce was surprised how much he missed the touch as soon as it was gone.

“But you’re not so sure.” Clint said, his whole body language shifting. He seemed embarrassed. Bruce hadn’t intended that at all. He went to speak, to try and explain what was going in inside his head but Clint raised a hand to stop him.

“You don’t have to answer. It’s fine,” Clint said, sounding as if he was mainly trying to convince himself. Then he smiled, a little more relaxed. “I said any capacity, right? So that includes just being friends. If you want something more then… awesome. It’s all good.”

A broad smile graced Bruce’s features. He hadn’t expected Clint to be so understanding of his indecision. He hadn’t really expected Clint to be able to detect his indecision so easily. “Thanks.”

Clint clapped him on the shoulder. “Want a beer?”

Bruce was about to refuse but thought twice about shooting the man down twice in quick succession. “Sure.”

They sat in the two deck chairs while the sun sunk below the skyline. Clint handed him a beer from the cooler and they toasted to nothing in particular. A comfortable silence fell until:

“You make up your mind yet?”

Bruce laughed and took a gulp from his bottle while the Manhattan sunset took his breath away.

 

End of Chapter Two


	3. Missing Something

After the most courteous of goodbyes, which didn’t include as much tongue on tongue action as Clint was hoping for, he and Bruce went their separate ways after their rooftop date. The kiss had been pretty hot, even if he did say so himself. After the initial disappointment when he realised Bruce wasn’t quite as enthusiastic about jumping in with both feet, Clint quickly got over it.  Leaving things flexible until Banner made up his mind was just fine by him. He couldn’t begrudge the Doc a little hesitation; everyone was still adjusting to the ridiculous situation they’d found themselves in. Starting a relationship, whatever that relationship might turn out to be, would be yet another slice of crazy for the cake. Hell, Clint had a three-tier affair with extra frosting going on already, but he had never shied away from embracing more drama, especially when came with such a nice ass.

Clint looked at the bruise on his hand. He felt guilty for not correcting Bruce when he assumed it was the Hulk who’d been responsible. But how exactly did you explain that you thought you saw the God of Mischief in your bathroom and damn near broke your hand punching what was, in fact, a wall?

It was around midnight; they’d spent hours on the roof. They’d talked, laughed, spied on people… Bruce was irritatingly charming, even though Clint suspected it was completely by accident. He hadn’t planned on kissing him quite so early into the evening but he couldn’t help himself. Even after Bruce’s indecision about what he wanted, Clint was surprised how well it went. More making out would have been nice but hey, it was a first date after all.

Bruce had gone to bed, or at least that’s where he said he was headed when he left. Clint stayed behind to clear away the debris. He strung it out, not wanting to face going back to his room and the nightmares. He considered watching a shitty movie in the lounge but didn’t want to risk falling asleep where anyone could find him. More specifically, he didn’t want to risk _waking up_ where anyone could find him. A full-blown freak out in a communal area was on his list of things to avoid. Then there was the thought of tomorrow and the psych evaluation. Would it be a bad idea to ask Bruce to get in a car with him and drive to Mexico? Tasha might do it…

It got too cold to stay on the roof so Clint wandered inside and found himself gravitating towards some noise coming from the science labs. It was Tony, often still awake in the small hours. He was working in the same lab the Hulk had gone to town on. The place still looked the same as it had during the aftermath of the fire, save for one worktop upon which Tony was preoccupied with something. He was so engrossed on whatever technical calibrations he was making that he didn’t notice Clint had walked in.

“Leaving the doors open now?” he finally asked, breaking the silence. To his delight, Tony jumped.

“Jesus, Barton, we need to get you a bell or something,” he said, annoyed. “You’re getting as bad as Natasha.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Don’t.” Tony looked no worse for wear after the incident earlier. A little electric shock and smoke inhalation were probably par for the course when you worked on the high-tech shit Stark worked on. That meant Clint didn’t have to be nice. Bonus.

“And yes, he continued, “leaving the doors open until I figure out how someone was able to sabotage them.”

“Sabotage?” Clint repeated, intrigued. “Really?”

Tony sighed like he’d already told this story a few times and got nowhere. “A safety door _I designed_ fails to keep me safe, my own experiment is rigged to deliver a massive electric shock and Jarvis has no record of any of it happening? Yeah. Sabotage.”

“You think someone was trying to kill you,” Clint surmised.

“They said you were sharp.”

Clint furrowed his brow. “Aren’t a lot of people trying to kill you all the time?”

Tony sighed. “Why do people keep saying that? That hurts, you know.”

Clint wondered if there was any credence to what Stark was telling him, or he just whacked his head when he went down. “Maybe it was just a glitch,” he suggested.

Tony was unimpressed by the accusation. “I have an IQ of 267, okay? My equipment does not glitch.”

Clint couldn’t help but smirk. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “And people call _me_ immature. Look, if you’re not going to indulge me and my conspiracy theories, you can just leave.”

“Alright, touchy.” Clint pushed himself up on the table opposite Tony’s workbench. He wasn’t done avoiding sleep yet. “So you think someone set up the experiment to kill you, then tampered with the doors to prevent anyone from helping? Seems unnecessarily complicated. If they were in the building why not just shoot you in the head you while you were sleeping? That’s what I’d do.”

“That’s good to know, it is. First of all, this way is more anonymous. Cowardly, but clever. Set it up, get out, then all you have to do is wait. Second, I know everyone who has access to this building. No-one gets to the upper levels without high clearance which only I can issue.”

“An inside job, then,” Clint reasoned from Tony’s implications. He wasn’t sure he was buying it but decided to indulge Stark, for lack of something better to do. “How many people have access?”

“Not including Avengers? Maybe a dozen people. All vetted.”

Clint thought for a moment. “What about the contractors working on your penthouse?”

Tony shook his head. “Not this floor. Keycard access required.”

“So aside from the Avengers, these dozen people with access, you trust them all?”

“I don’t trust anybody,” Stark replied.

“Now you really do sound paranoid.”

“No-one believes the genius,” Tony said incredulously. “What is this world coming to?”

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

Clint left Stark to it when he started talking about algorithms and showing him technical readouts from JARVIS’s corrupted security feed. Tony could go and tell Steve or Fury if he was that serious about the threat. Clint could only really offer sarcastic comment and yawning. He desperately needed a decent night’s sleep and knew he wasn’t going to get it. Even when he slept without having that hellish nightmare, he still didn’t feel rested. Occasionally whole nights would go by in the blink of an eye. He still preferred that to the nightmares but it wasn’t helping the bags under his eyes or the sluggishness creepy into his movements. His evaluation was tomorrow and the shrink was sure to notice. They tended to frown upon the hangover excuse too. _“Are you drinking a lot, Agent? Why do you feel you need to drink? Tell me about your father.”_

Clint hated psychiatrists.

He ambled towards his room wondering what kind of sleep he’d get and if it mattered in the end. Only memories of Bruce and their rooftop evening shed any light on the gloom. Initially Clint had hoped Banner would be a distraction, maybe a fling, but after spending some time together he realised there might be something else there.

Clint stared at his unmade bed. Tony had offered them all maid service but Clint refused it. He liked mess. Stark had predictably made a joke about nesting. Whatever.

Reluctantly, _slowly_ , Clint brushed his teeth, stripped and fell into bed. He was busy thinking of excuses to get out of his eval when his eyelids started to drop. Sleep took hold soon after that, but not before Clint kind of hoped the world would need saving tomorrow.

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

He was by Loki’s side, trapped in his own mind. Blind fury and hatred flowed through him, that now familiar twisting hurt tightening his chest.

“You understand, do you not?” Loki said during the calm before the storm.

If Clint made any response, he didn’t recall what it was.

“I am sorry for that,” Loki said, as if the words had never passed his lips before. “It was not my intention. But I suppose it makes you my most valuable asset.”

He moved so they were standing face to face and smiled a wicked, empty smile.

“And it will make it easier when you kill your friends.”

Clint bellowed out in protest, his body aching to strangle the sorry life out of his enslaver but the dream is already falling away. Instead the shout only echoed around his room at Stark Tower and his arms found nothing but empty space.

Struggling to catch his breath, Clint didn’t know how much more of this he could take. Each time it hit him harder, like a piece of his soul was being chipped away, and Loki was patching it up.

It took a minute to adjust back to reality and realise his phone was ringing. The one blurred photo he had of Natasha was gracing the screen. She hated having her photo taken. He’d lost a few cameras and phones figuring that out.

“We were supposed to have breakfast. You stood me up,” she said before he’d even got out a ‘hello’.

Clint wiped the sweat from his brow. “Sorry. Brunch?”

“Don’t ever say brunch to me again,” came the deadly serious reply. “I’ll be waiting in the lobby.”

Tasha ended the call. Clint looked over at the clock, which somehow had ticked over to 10.20am. No wonder he missed breakfast. How had such a short, if horrific, dream lasted so long?

Clint hauled himself out of bed, feeling worse than when he got in there. He headed for the bathroom and zoned out while the tap was running. His evaluation was in less than three hours. So far his plan was to just say as little as possible. It always seemed to work for Tasha. Maybe she could give him some tips over bru- late breakfast.

Clint looked at the whole in the wall he’d made when Loki had made an impromptu appearance. He could hear the assessment now:

Agent is experiencing auditory and visual hallucinations, tremors, insomnia, and vivid nightmares. Status: a danger to himself and others. Recommend removal from active duty, stripping of all privileges and powers and detention with immediate effect, pending further evaluation.

Maybe he should let them take him in. Who knew what he’d be like in a firefight. Would the tremors mess up his aim? Would Loki appear and distract him from his target? There was no going back once he admitted what was going on. If they deemed him a liability, they’d lock him up for god knows how long. They’d already cleared him for duty once, after Natasha knocked some sense into him that day, but maybe they had been wrong. What if what was happening to him couldn’t be cured?

Clint had been thinking about Loki’s other victims. He’d seen a few of them in the halls of SHIELD HQ. They didn’t exchange more than a nod, but they hadn’t looked tired or haggard like he did. He’d heard nothing about other any other victims falling apart, no reports of agents being given psychiatric help, nor civilians for that matter. He was sure Fury would have heard if Dr. Selvig had been having problems – there was no reason for him to hide it.

It didn’t make sense. Clint was the agent with the highest-ranking agent who’d been enslaved, he’d had the most training, knew how to fight brainwashing techniques and been taught how to compartmentalise trauma, yet he was barely keeping it together.

Why was he the only one going through this?

Clint went through the motions of morning routine. He threw on some cleanish clothes and headed out to meet Natasha, all these thoughts weighing on his shoulders. He was alone in the elevator when it stopped on one of the lab floors. Bruce was waiting with another scientist he didn’t recognise. Clint was surprised how much seeing the Doc cheered him up. He’d almost forgotten that not quite everything had turned to crap just yet.

“Hey, Freckles.”

“Hey,” Bruce said, entering the confined space. The young woman got in too, standing with her back to them.

Bruce smiled at Clint but it faded a little with concern. “You look… awful. Did you get any sleep?”

Great, Clint thought. If Bruce could tell, what chance did he stand with Natasha or the shrink? “Thanks, just what I wanted to hear.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean… you always look good. I mean, you just, you,” Bruce stumbled over his words then sighed. “You just look tired, is what I was trying to say.”

Clint laughed. He took the compliment buried in there and stored it away. There was hope for them yet. “Yeah, I know what you meant,” he admitted. “Guess I’m just not looking forward to this eval. I don’t like doctors. Present company excluded, of course.”

Bruce smiled. “Where are you headed?”

“Oh, I’m meeting Tasha for coffee,” Clint replied. “Just coffee,” he felt the need to add.

“Oh, okay.” Bruce still seemed disappointed.

Clint felt weirdly guilty even though there was no reason to be. People always thought he and Natasha were involved, but it hadn’t been like that for a while now. Even when they were sort of together, it wasn’t exactly what you’d call a traditional relationship. It was complicated.

“Um, did you uh…” Bruce began, but trailed off, looking at the other passenger.

By some mercy, the elevator stopped and she got off. Bruce held his silence until they were alone. “Are you free tonight?” he asked cautiously. “Unless you want to catch up on sleep or something.”

Clint was pretty sure he was grinning like an idiot but he didn’t care. “I am _so_ free tonight.” _If I haven’t been put on a psych hold by then,_ he thought.

“Good. Maybe we can get some coffee?”

“God, yes.” Coffee and Bruce were probably top of the list of things he wanted.

The elevator stopped again and Bruce went to leave. “And um, maybe not just coffee.”

Clint exploded with joy. “You flirted! That was flirting!” he exclaimed.

Bruce flushed a deep shade of crimson. He was walking backwards down the corridor. “Shut up,” Bruce said, happily embarrassed.

“I’m so hot for you right now,” Clint yelled.

“Come by my lab later, okay? Around seven?”

The elevator doors started to close.

“That’s nineteen hundred hours!” Bruce called before they shut completely.

Suddenly Clint wasn’t feeling so bad.

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

Natasha took a bite out of her cream cheese bagel. “You still look like crap,” she said, unashamedly talking while chewing.

“I always enjoy these pre-lunch dates with you, Tash,” Clint replied sarcastically. “They’re so rewarding.”

“Seriously, what’s up with you?” Natasha clearly wasn’t letting him off so easily.

Clint hadn’t really thought about what he’d say when someone eventually asked him that question, or its variations. It was doubly hard trying to think of an adequate response when the question came from Tasha, the pinnacle of self-control. Nothing came to mind. “I don’t know. Everything’s changed, I guess.” he eventually heard himself say. _God, you sound like a vague facebook status_.

“For the better, I thought,” Natasha said.

“No, sure. Go team,” Clint agreed. “Saving the world, billionaire letting us play with his toys, love it. Just… how we got here. Everyone we lost.” There was that sting again.

“It’s not your fault,” Tasha said, as if on reflex. She meant it though, every word.

“Doesn’t make it hurt less,” Clint countered. He thought he would feel some kind of relief finally talking about it, even if it wasn’t particularly eloquent, but there was nothing. He felt weaker, if anything. Exposed.

“Adapt,” Natasha said. “It’s the only thing we can do.”

Clint would have given anything for a fraction of her strength. “Yeah,” was all he could find to say.

Tasha studied him, her brow knotted ever so slightly, in what Clint decided was worry. It was a subtle craft, deciphering the Black Widow’s emotional repertoire. “Are you gonna get through this evaluation?” she asked.

“Honestly? I have no idea,” Clint admitted, staring out the window.

“Make sure you do,” Natasha said. She made it sound like a threat, but Clint knew she meant well. “Talk to me, don’t talk to the shrink,” she continued. “You’re no good to anybody benched.”

Clint found himself smiling. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“It’s not about nice,” Tasha denied. “I just don’t want to be the only normal person on a team of weirdoes.”

“Ah, there you are,” Clint jested.

Natasha finished her bagel and licked her fingers. Clint breathed in the last ounce of his coffee and savoured every last drip. For a few minutes they sat in comfortable silence.

“You don’t honestly believe we’re normal, do you?” Clint asked.

Natasha pulled a face that said ‘fair point’.

They paid for their food and left, headed back to Stark Tower.  They had almost reached it when Clint couldn’t keep it in any longer. “So, I kinda have a date with Banner tonight,” he blurted out.

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t mention that during your eval.”

“I wasn’t planning to,” Clint said. “You don’t approve?” It was hard to tell.

Tasha shrugged. “Do you really need me to? He’s a nice enough guy. The _Other Guy_ isn’t quite so tolerable.”

“Hm. I hadn’t really thought about it,” Clint said.

“Why doesn’t that surprise me,” Tash said dryly.

So Clint had made some bad choices in the past, but this didn’t feel like another one. It felt right. Truth was he really hadn’t thought about the Hulk much. It hadn’t really seemed like a big part of the equation. Naïve of him, perhaps, but the Hulk was on their side after all, and Bruce seemed to have a semblance of control, otherwise Fury would have had him doped up to the eyeballs in a holding cell. Clint shivered at the thought; it was an eerie parallel of his own current fear.

“I can handle the Hulk if he shows up,” Clint said confidently, then realised who he was talking to. “Shit, sorry,” he said. “I read the report about the rampage on the Hellcarrier.”

“You’re the one who’s going to be sorry if you piss Banner off,” Natasha replied coldly.

It was weird to see Tasha so affected but Clint understood why. The Hulk embodied everything Natasha feared – total loss of control, complete submission to those dark emotions she fought so hard to bury herself. It must have been terrifying to watch it happen before her eyes.

They reached Stark Tower, the glass doors sliding open in invitation. The dazzling lobby still made Clint’s eyes hurt.

“Well, if that happens you have my permission to say ‘I told you so,’” Clint said, trying to lighten the mood.

Tasha looked decidedly unimpressed but there was a glint in her eye that told Clint she forgave the little slip. “Like I need your permission.”

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

Two hours passed in the blink of an eye. Clint had decided against wasting them at the shooting range and instead worked out a little in the gym with Steve. He was a decent guy. Packed a mean, if apologetic, punch. Clint wasn’t exactly on top form and took a few of them. At least he had a better excuse for looking like shit now, plus they’d got to know each other’s styles a little better, which was never a bad thing.

Clint might have ‘forgotten’ to go to his appointment if Rogers hadn’t reminded him. Fury must have sent him the schedule or something. Sneaky bastard.

“Had your eval yet?” Clint asked as he towelled the sweat from his forehead.

Steve shook his head. He looked pretty pensive. The Captain evidently wasn’t looking forward to it either. “I think Tony was first.”

 _Good,_ Clint thought. Hopefully Stark pissed this Dr. Marlowe off so much she was looking to end the day as quickly as possible.

“You seemed a little sluggish today. You okay?” Steve asked after taking a swig from his water bottle.

Clint was going to get sick of that question, he could tell. “Yeah. Thanks for the workout, Cap,” he said, aborting whatever the conversation might have been. Clint gave Steve a friendly salute since he looked like a kicked puppy at his abruptness and left the good Captain with his punch bags for company.

“Any time,” Steve called.

Doctor Marlowe was set up in one of the Tower’s conference rooms. Clint had expected something a little more intimate, maybe with books and a sofa and mahogany everywhere. He didn’t know where he’d got that idea. Probably from a movie.

“Come in, Agent, have a seat.”

Clint obliged, taking the seat already out of place. Marlowe had dark hair, tied up in a ponytail and wore a grey suit. Clint could tell she was tall even though she was sitting down. She had an angular face, even when she smiled. It seemed like a forced gesture.

“Stark wear you out?” Clint asked, trying to make the situation a little less tense.

It seemed to work; Marlowe smiled a little more comfortably this time. “I’m not at liberty to discuss other patients, of course, but let’s just say I already earned my paycheque for today.” She flicked through a file on the desk, twiddling a pen in her hand. “So, Clint. May I call you Clint?”

“Knock yourself out.”

“You’ve had quite the time of it. I’ve spoken to a few others who were under this… Loki’s spell. It must have been a terrible ordeal. How are you coping with that?”

Straight for the jugular. Clint cringed at the way she talked liked she knew, said Loki’s name like she read it in a story book. “Fine,” he replied.

Marlowe paused like she was taking mental notes. “Do you remember your experience?”

Clint realised he was subconsciously wringing his hands and swiftly stopped. “Some of it,” he said. This was all in his debrief report. She knew it, he knew it. This was all a dance.

“Do you think about it a lot?” the Doctor slid a paper pad out from under the file and put it on her lap. She scribbled something down.

 “I try not to.” Clint shrugged. “It’s done. I can’t change it.”

Marlowe looked up from her notes and met his stare. Clint couldn’t help feeling like he was being tested, that she was waiting for him to slip up somehow. It felt like an interrogation, which was more his territory, if he was honest. He could employ the same techniques he’d learned in training. _Give them want they want without giving them anything._

“How are you sleeping?”

How did she know all the right questions to ask? She could be a fucking telepath for all Clint knew. He’d heard rumours of them existing and he wouldn’t put it past Fury to employ one. _You’re just being paranoid; calm the fuck down,_ he told himself. _Wait,_ _did she hear that?_

“I sleep okay,” he answered finally.

“Good,” she smiled that fake smile again. “If you have any trouble we can prescribe something, it’s not a problem.”

“Like I said, I’m good,” Clint repeated.

“Are you seeing anyone?”

Clint hadn’t been expecting that question. “What?”

“Are you seeing anyone?” Marlowe repeated calmly.

Clint didn’t really know the answer yet, but he knew he sure as hell didn’t want to talk about it with a complete stranger. “I don’t have to answer that,” he said defensively.

Marlowe laughed gently. “This isn’t a courtroom, Agent,” she said with what might have been warmth. “I’m just trying to get a general idea of where your head’s at. I respect your privacy but I need your co-operation to do my job. Director Fury wants an assessment of every SHIELD agent’s mental status.”

“Then tell him I’m fine, and it’s none of his goddamn, one-eyed business if I’m seeing anyone.”

Marlowe seemed amused at his mini outburst. “I’ll be sure to pass that on,” she said. She scribbled in her pad again.

Clint shifted uncomfortably. “You can leave on the one-eyed part,” he said, annoyed at himself for snapping.

“Will do,” Marlowe replied, unfazed. She rested her hands on the desk. “Clint, if there’s anything you want to tell me -I know you don’t like psychiatrists, there are few that do – but I can assure you I have your interests at heart, as well as the Division’s.”

“Well, thanks but all this is unnecessary, I’m fine,” Clint said firmly. “I just need to get on with my job.” He closed his eyes as he spoke, tired of reiterating the same point – mostly to himself. When he opened them to gage Marlowe’s reaction, her expression had changed dramatically. But rather than disbelief or understanding, her face was bizarrely full of fear.

“What is it?” he asked. The doctor looked horrified.

“I think you better leave,” she said quietly.

Clint stared at her, bewildered. What the hell was this? Tell him to leave to make him stay? Maybe she really was a fucking telepath and she’d just delved into his memories, seeing him dance in front of the mirror in high heels back in his teens. Whatever it was, she was freaked. “Are you alright?” he asked.

“Just go, please.”

Clint wasn’t sure but he thought he heard _pleading_ in her tone. Clint didn’t have a goddamn clue what was going on. Had he suddenly started bleeding from the eyeballs or something? Was there a naked fat guy behind him?

“Is that it? We’re done?” he asked.

Marlowe didn’t move or say anything. She wouldn’t even meet him in the eye.

Unsure of what to do, Clint sat for a moment before moving to leave. When he did, Marlowe flinched.

Unable to comprehend the level of weirdest they’d achieved, Clint gave up and left, utterly baffled. _Well,_ he thought as he gained distance from the incident, _at least it was short._

 

End of Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading!


	4. The Best Laid Plans

Clint wandered back up to his room to shower. He should have probably done so after his workout with Steve but since he was stuck for time he just went for a change of clothes and a mask of deodorant before his evaluation.  Maybe that was why Doctor Marlowe had freaked out; the unpleasant smell of body odour drifted up her nose. Clint still hadn’t worked out what the Doc was on. He’d even called Tony to ask him what he thought of her, to which Tony helpfully replied “ass is an eight, rest’s a six.” Pepper must have punched him or something after that because he heard, “Ow! What?! You’re a ten!”

After an unnecessarily long and glorious shower, Clint dried himself off and noticed he had six missed calls. They were all from Agent Hill. He truly hoped the world didn’t need saving tonight, because he had _much_ more important things to do. With the evaluation out the way, weird as it was, now he could get on with looking forward to seeing Bruce. He called Hill back.

“Agent Barton, finally,” she said when she answered.

“I was in the shower. What’s up?” Clint asked.

“Fury’s temper,” Hill replied. “He wants to speak with you immediately. And by speak with I mean yell at, and by immediately I mean a half hour ago.”

 _Shit,_ Clint thought. It had to be about the eval… all his other slightly inadvisable activities he’d done without leaving evidence.

“Report to Delta Base on the double.”

Clint glanced at his watch. There was plenty of time before his date, he was pretty sure he could get to Delta, get chewed out and get back in time. “On my way. Any idea what this is about?”

“All I know is if we had a swear jar we could buy another Hellcarrier by now. You must have really pissed him off.”

“Fuck.”

“See you soon, Agent.”

_Fuck._

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

Delta Base was a forty-minute drive but Clint made it in thirty. He wasn’t in a hurry to be yelled at (though the less time you kept Fury waiting, the better) but he wanted to be back at Stark Tower to get ready and meet Bruce. Since he didn’t know how long this shouting session was going to take, he figured he’d better punch it.

Delta buzzed with activity. Anyone would think there had been an alien invasion recently. Fury was waiting in one his many offices, standing, despite the presence of an ominous black leather chair. Clint vaguely wondered why the Director never sat down. When he turned around, Clint remembered. _Right, the intimidation thing._

“Agent Barton, have a seat, won’t you?”

Oh damn, this was bad. Polite Fury was usually angry Fury in disguise. Clint sat down, waiting for the onslaught.

Fury pinched the bridge of his nose, his other hand on his hip. “I don’t know if you’re pissed that daddy adopted some new kids, but if you wanted my attention, you got it.”

Clint decided, at his peril, to play innocent. “I don’t follow, Sir.”

“Doctor Marlowe called,” Fury said, and paused as if expecting more of a reaction than he got. “Would you mind telling me why she wants you not only removed from active duty, but locked up on a psych hold with immediate effect?”

“Wait, _what_?” Clint said, dumbfounded. “I wasn’t exactly my usual chatty self, but we weren’t even in there five minutes!”

“She said you explicitly threatened her life,” Fury told him.

Clint felt like he was in the Twilight Zone. Had he slipped into an alternate dimension? “ _What?!”_ he exclaimed again.“Sir, are you sure this woman isn’t a psychiatric _patient_? I didn’t threaten her, why the hell would I do that?” Clint tried to remember the exact conversation; as if threatening to kill someone was something he was likely to do by accident and forget about.

“Why would she lie?” Fury asked calmly (which was very disconcerting).

“I don’t know, Sir, I’m not a psychiatrist.” Clint couldn’t help the sardonic bite behind his words.

Fury considered him for a moment. “Agent Romanoff is working on the theory that Marlowe has a personal vendetta against you.”

Clint contemplated this but shook his head. He was good with faces. “I’d never even met her before today.”

“Until Romanoff gives me her report, you’re confined to base and you’re not to approach the doc-”

“This is ridiculous!” Clint interrupted, anger swelling up inside him. “Do you seriously think -”

Fury held up a hand to stop him. “Barton, would you shut the hell up? I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt here, but I have to take this seriously. Think yourself lucky I’m not having you taken into custody. Do not attempt to talk to Doctor Marlowe.”

Clint deflated a little. If Natasha was on the case, whatever scheme Marlowe was trying to pull would crumble soon enough. Clint just had to behave until then. There was just one small problem…

“Can I at least stay at Stark Tower instead of here?” he asked. He knew he was pushing it, but he had to try.

“And why would you want to do that, Agent?” Fury returned. His tone had shifted back to worryingly sarcastic. “Do you have a date?”

Clint somehow knew Fury already had the answer to that question. “Uh…”

Fury pulled a file from the drawer of his desk and dropped some photographs from it on the table. Clint glanced over them. They looked like paparazzi shots of… yes, they were indeed paparazzi shots of Clint and Bruce sucking face on the roof of Stark Tower.

Clint raised his eyebrows. “Huh. I guess they really were watching us.” The photos must have been taken from a helicopter or taller building with what must have been a camera with a ridiculously huge telescopic lens. It irked Clint that he’d failed to notice a photographer squirreled away somewhere.

“We stopped these from finding their way into the tabloids,” Fury explained. “Do you know how much I hate dealing with press bullshit?”

“A lot?” Clint offered.

“Yes, Agent Barton, a lot.” Fury finally took a seat and sighed.

Clint was annoyed that he didn’t look any less intimidating sat down. If anything he looked _more_ intimidating now he was sitting on his black leather throne of death.

“Look, I’m not here to tell you it’s a bad idea, even though I think it’s a _bad_ idea. As long as it doesn’t get in the way of your job you can date Stark for all I care.”

Clint was sure if he’d been drinking coffee, he’d have spat it out at that point.

“But just so we’re clear,” Fury said, words soaked in a tone that said _you’d better fucking pay attention_. “Any damage incurred by the Hulk caused by you being a dick? Is coming straight out of your paycheque. Understood?”

“Understood.”

“Dismissed.”

Clint was halfway to the door before he bit the bullet and turned around. “Uh, Sir? Was that a yes on Stark Tower?”

Fury’s glare burned into him as he considered the request. “You can stay at Stark Tower. But don’t even think about setting foot outside until I say otherwise.”

“Not a problem.”

Clint thought it was probably pushing it to ask for a little leeway on that radius. It would _definitely_ be pushing it to ask for copies of those photos.

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

The truth was: Bruce hadn’t planned anything. He hadn’t planned on where they were going, what they were doing, what he’d say, how far he’d go, he hadn’t even planned on actually asking Clint out in the elevator. But it happened anyway.

After he left the roof, Bruce had gone straight to bed but not to sleep. His mind was rampant with debate. That kiss. He wanted more of that, definitely. But just how far could he go? How far would the monster let him go? Was it really fair to expect Clint to be okay with such a dangerous experiment? Of course not. Bruce didn’t _want_ him to be an experiment. He could never use someone like that. Besides, it wasn’t just physical attraction (though there was that in spades). Clint was brave and funny and charming and god damn it, this wasn’t supposed to be happening.

So much had changed in his life and he was having a hard time adjusting as it was. Joining the Avengers, moving in with people who made him feel like he wasn’t just Jekyll and Hyde, having a purpose; it was all so intoxicating. It made him feel wanted and needed and so help him, _good._ Like he deserved to be happy.

But it was selfish to think like that. Bruce could pretend the Hulk wasn’t a factor in this decision, but that was a joke. The Other Guy would be a part of his decisions for the rest of life, or until he found a cure. No, this couldn’t happen. If he ended up hurting Clint, he’d never forgive himself.

This inner turmoil continued for most of the night, and throughout the morning. He’d decided almost certainly that he was going to tell Clint that it couldn’t go any further, when the elevator doors opened and there he was, wearing a smile that could bring down a building. In the space of a minute or two, he managed to stumble over his words, accidentally insult the man, then ask him out; all his carefully laid plans of ‘just saying no’ gone completely to hell.

Bruce had been in his lab since then, most of the day actually. Work helped him calm and concentrate his thoughts. Well, it normally did. He broke two test tubes and accidentally wiped out a tray of cultures he’d been monitoring, but he chalked that up to lack of sleep. He felt like he was a teenager again, giddy with attraction and damn the consequences, despite his better judgement. It had been a long time since anyone had had that effect on Bruce. But the date was made now, and he couldn’t flake out on it. Besides, Clint had seemed so pleased about it, Bruce almost fell for him right then and there. It was a strange but wholly welcome feeling, to have someone want to be with him like that, to smile when they saw him.

Speaking of the devil…

“Hey you,” Clint greeted as he strolled into the lab, hands in the pockets of his black cargo pants. He wore a tight black t-shirt that nicely highlighted his… well, everything.

“Hi,” Bruce said, smiling goofily before regaining composure. “Oh my god, is it seven already?” he suddenly thought.  It wouldn’t be the first time he’d scienced the day away.

“Uh, not unless you are working on a time travel device in here,” Clint replied. “Are you? That would be awesome.”

“Oh. No, not today,” Bruce laughed lightly. “Or maybe every day. Time is relative.”

Clint looked momentarily confused. “Whatever you say, Doc. Uh, anyway I just came to tell you if you had anything booked for tonight, you might have to cancel it.”

Bruce heart sank.

Clint obviously picked up on his crestfallen expression and hastened to add, “Oh, nothing like that. It’s just, I’m kind of… grounded.”

It was Bruce’s turn to look confused. Did he really mean…“Grounded? As in…”

“Confined to base,” Clint confirmed. “If I leave the building Fury’ll have my ass in a sling. And possibly some limbs for good measure.”

“What did you do?” Bruce asked, more than a little curious, but also relieved Clint wasn’t backing out.

“Nothing!” Clint said vehemently.

Bruce was unconvinced.

“My psych eval didn’t exactly go so great,” Clint said after a minute. “I don’t think the Doc liked me very much. If you ask me, she’s the one who needs the eval,” he said, very nearly pouting.

Bruce didn’t know what he’d been expecting but it didn’t surprise him that Clint and a psychiatrist hadn’t got on well. He imagined he was much like Tony in that respect – all sarcasm and confidence on the outside but anything deeper was guarded to the core. Bruce wondered if there was more to the story. He’d seen glimpses of Clint’s behaviour that troubled him – his trembling hands, looking so tired in the elevator, and it was hard to forget the incident at the shooting range. But Bruce didn’t feel quite like it was his place to ask that kind of question, not yet at least. He suspected it would just be deflected back with sarcasm and charm anyway, which Bruce was apparently powerless to resist.

“Well, um… I didn’t have anything specific planned,” he said. “I’m sure there’s something we can do round here.”

The corner of Clint’s mouth twitched and his eyes sparkled with mischievous hope.

Bruce shook his head and laughed at his optimism. “I didn’t mean that.”

“I didn’t say anything!” Clint denied, holding his hands up with mock innocence.

“Right,” Bruce said, not buying it for a second. “Well, what about dinner and a movie? We could get takeout.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

A few hours later they had more Chinese food than was humanly possible to eat. _‘I shouldn’t be allowed to order food when I’m hungry,’_ Clint had said when it arrived.

They had settled on the sofa of the communal lounge, and were flicking through Tony’s preposterously expansive film library. It wasn’t much of a date location but Bruce rather preferred it to going out and sitting in a restaurant or somewhere with a lot of people – purely because he didn’t really like attention and feared they would get it wherever they went. At least it was more comfortable here. They could relax. Of course there was an issue regarding bedroom proximity…

“What do you think, something classic or something new?” Clint asked when they’d finally figured out how to scroll through the pages.

“Classic,” Bruce decided.

“Okay, but I warn you, I’m a quoter,” Clint said.

“A quoter?”

“Yeah, you know, quoting the lines before the character’s even said them?” Clint explained.

“I think I can live with that,” Bruce said. “What genre?”

“Action, all the way. Although I’m told Stark has the largest collection of adult movies in this hemisphere, if you’re feeling risqué.” Clint mimed what Bruce could only described as a drag queen’s Blue Steel face during the last part.

“If I didn’t know better I’d say you were trying to corrupt my delicate sensibilities,” Bruce said when he’d finished laughing.

“Damn right I am,” Clint said.

“What about Die Hard? You can’t watch Die Hard too many times.” Bruce suggested, ignoring the flirt only on the basis that he was terrible at returning it. That, and Clint seemed to flirt enough for the both of them.

“You like Die Hard?” Clint asked. “You just get better and better.”

“I’ll take that as a yes?”

Clint barely had time to push play before Tony waltzed in like he owned the place – which, to be fair, he did.  He was wearing cargo pants and a vest, his clothes and the rest of him covered in grease. He gave the room a quick scan and zeroed in on his target. “Oh my god, Chinese? I’m starving. You get sweet and sour chicken?”

“Um, yeah,” Bruce said, pointing.

Clint gave Bruce a ‘what the fuck, dude?’ glare, to which Bruce responded with an ‘I’m sorry, I’m too nice for my own good’ shrug.

“What are we watching?”

“ _We’re_ not watching anything,” Clint said irritably.

“Oh, good.” Tony seemed completely oblivious to his third wheel status. At least, Bruce hoped he was simply oblivious; otherwise he was kind of a jerk.  “In that case I vote… oh hey, Die Hard,” he exclaimed.

Then it got worse.

“JARVIS, assemble the Avengers. Impromptu movie night,” Tony said, rummaging through the various food containers until he found what he was looking for.

Steve called to say ‘Assemble the Avengers’ wasn’t really a phrase to be used lightly and complained he’d been tripping over putting his boots on before he heard the part about a movie night. He and Natasha turned up anyway. Tasha brought beer and Steve brought popcorn. Pepper was away at a conference or something, which was probably why Tony was so eager to be entertained.

Some time later the elite crime-fighting unit, minus one Norse God, were an hour and a quarter into Die Hard. Natasha has taken residence on the arm chair, beer in one hand, a bowl of popcorn on the other. Tony was on the three-seater sofa, next to Bruce who was in the middle. Beside him Clint eventually stopped muttering obscenities under his breath and started quoting John McClane.

Steve was in the other arm chair. Even though the film contained more swearing than he was used to, he thoroughly enjoyed it. So much so that when it finished he insisted on watching the second one. Bruce could practically hear Clint’s hopes being crushed when Tony and Tasha agreed they wouldn’t mind making it a marathon. Bruce felt a little guilty that their date had turned into a teambuilding exercise, so decided at the very least to stealthily reach for Clint’s hand. Clint said nothing but smiled and gripped back as their fingers interlocked. The lights were down so nobody seemed the notice.

“There’s _another_ one?” Steve said when the credits finished rolling.

“The best one,” Natasha said controversially. No-one was brave enough to argue with her.

“It would be weird not to complete the original trilogy,” Tony helpfully added as he pushed play on Die Hard With A Vengeance.

One hundred and thirty-one minutes later, everyone had died, harder and with a vengeance and John McClane had saved the day in his own special way. The all agreed Die Hard 4.0 didn’t really count and Steve wasn’t ready to see an aged Bruce Willis anyway.

Clint pulled his hand from Bruce’s grip when Natasha got up and went to leave.

“Don’t move,” he told Bruce hastily before catching the Russian agent in the doorway. They spoke in hushed tones for a minute, while Tony quashed any hope of overhearing by trying to convince Steve to let the cleaner take care of the mess they’d made.

“You’re not supposed to clean for the cleaner,” Tony said, irritated. “If I wanted that, my cleaner would get a cleaner.”

“What are you talking about?” Steve asked while continuing to tidy up.

Tony rolled his eyes and took a breath to argue some more, but Bruce decided to interject. “Did you find out who’s trying to kill you, Tony?”

Tony just sort of stared at him for a while. “How is it everyone asks that question in the same way they’d ask if I’ve chosen a new carpet?”

Bruce didn’t really know why.

“But since you asked, I have a few leads I’m working on,” Tony said.

Steve scoffed. “Wouldn’t you have found something by now if someone really tampered with your equipment?”

“Fine, don’t take me seriously,” Tony said petulantly. “But when they strike again and succeed this time, you’ll miss me. I bet you’re an ugly crier.”

It was Steve’s turn to roll his eyes. He finished clearing away and headed for the door.

Tony followed him. “You probably look good in black though, right? I’m sorry I’m gonna miss that.”

Bruce didn’t quite catch Steve’s reply, they’d already disappeared down the corridor. He did, however, hear Clint’s sigh from behind him. Bruce turned to see Natasha leaving.

“Good night, Doctor Banner,” she said, nodding at him.

Bruce replied in turn and stood up, his legs tired from staying in the same position for so long. Clint didn’t look too happy.

“Everything okay?” Bruce asked tentatively. He couldn’t tell if Clint was mad about their date being gatecrashed or if something else was bothering him.

Clint snapped out of whatever maudlin daze he’d been in. “Fine, yeah. So, the good news is I’m probably not grounded anymore. The bad news is it’s…” Clint looked at his watch, “almost 2am.”

Bruce pulled a face. “But we can go out somewhere tomorrow night? I mean, if you still want to.”

“You just sat through almost six hours of Die Hard. I couldn’t be more attracted to you right now. Yeah, I want to,” Clint confirmed.

Bruce felt his face flush again. He really had to stop that.

Clint sighed. “I guess we should call it a night,” he admitted.

“It is pretty late,” Bruce agreed, though he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted the evening to end. “I suppose offering to walk you home kind of loses effect when you’re living in the same building.”

Clint looked like a puppy who’d just heard ‘walkies’. He even bounced a little. “Not even a little bit.”

“Alright then,” Bruce said. “Er, you’ll have to lead the way though. I don’t know where your room is.”

As they started walking through the low-lit corridors, Bruce was first to talk again. “Sorry about tonight. I didn’t exactly intend it to be a group date.”

“Ah, don’t worry about it. It was my fault we couldn’t go anywhere,” Clint said, then reconsidered. “Although as it turned out, not actually my fault.” He seemed to get lost in his own thoughts.

“Is that what you and Agent Romanoff were talking about?” Bruce asked. “I don’t mean to pry,” he added quickly.

Clint came back to reality. “Yeah. She put me in the clear. Sort of.”

Bruce didn’t like seeing Clint like this, his spirit diminished by whatever burden he was carrying. He wanted to know what was going on inside his head and what he could do to make it all better.

“Oh. This is my place.” Clint stopped and looked sheepish.

“Really? It’s closer than I thought,” Bruce said, disappointed. They can’t have been walking for more than a minute. He found himself staring at Clint’s lips. Breaking the gaze, he realised Clint was doing exactly the same thing.

After a few seconds of silence, the idea hit them both at the same time, and they nearly knocked their teeth out moving in for the kiss. Bruce was more of a participant this time, kissing Clint deeply with want. It was just as exhilarating as it was on the roof, if not more so.

He knew they should probably call this a good night kiss and call it quits – after all, they still hadn’t technically had a proper date. But what Bruce’s head knew, his body denied. When Clint sucked on his lower lip and leaned his body into him, he already knew they weren’t headed for goodbye.

When Bruce whimpered involuntarily, he was suddenly very aware they were still in the corridor where anyone could pass by, and probably on a security feed somewhere too. Clint must have read his mind because he stopped and rested his forehead on Bruce’s, panting lightly.

“You wanna come in?”

“Mm, yeah,” Bruce heard himself say.

Clint didn’t move away but reached to swipe his pass on the lock. When the doors opened Bruce found his mouth again. Clint moaned into it as they shuffled awkwardly into his room.

“Aren’t people supposed to talk on dates?” Bruce said, his brain managing to interrupt the conversation his body was having with Clint.

“Mm we talked!” Clint insisted, his hands working up under Bruce’s shirt. He started licking and biting at Bruce’s neck.

Bruce shuddered at the contact. “‘Pass the noodles’ and quoting Die Hard wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.”

Clint stopped. Bruce hadn’t wanted that.

“My favourite colour is purple, I like the rain, I don’t like racoons, my middle name is Hamish,” Clint reeled off.

“Really?” Bruce asked.

“No, not really.”

“Okay, good talk,” Bruce said and pulled Clint back onto his lips.

Bruce’s back hit the wall and Clint pressed his body up against him. Bruce could feel his own arousal against Clint’s. Clint stopped just barely an inch from Bruce’s lips, hovering tantalisingly close. His hot breath met with Bruce’s, unsteady and quick. “Sure about this?” he asked.

Bruce had no idea under what circumstance anyone would be able to say no. At that moment there was nothing else but the two of them and their bodies in torturous, exhilarating suspended animation. This was the opportunity to stop, to turn away from what was probably a bad idea, to let sense and reason take over and end it before it started. But with Clint so close and the ghosts of kisses still wet on his lips, sense and reason were as far away as they could get.

Bruce nodded. He bit his lip, staring at Clint’s, aching to feel them again. “Sure,” he confirmed.

Clint wasted no time closing the gap between them, skimming his tongue over Bruce’s lip before pushing in again, kissing hard and deep. He moaned in satisfaction, like he’d been waiting a long time for this. Bruce felt himself swell even more at the thought. He wanted to touch every inch of Clint’s body and he planned to do so. They broke apart briefly so Bruce could pull Clint’s t-shirt off over his head, both panting already. Bruce stole a fleeting look at Clint’s well-toned chest before resuming the kiss, deciding exploring it with his hands would be far more thrilling.

Clint tucked his hand round Bruce’s belt and guided him toward the bed. Bruce was doing his best to keep control, and he didn’t mean just hulking out. His every sense was electrified with arousal. It had been a while.

They turned awkwardly and stumbled. Bruce fell backwards, Clint landing on top of him on the bed, accidentally kneeing him in the thigh.

“Ow!”

Clint laughed. “Sorry.”

“S’okay.” Bruce returned a smile and it changed the air, lifting a layer of danger from it.

While he undid the buttons of Bruce’s shirt, Clint leaned in to taste his neck, swirling in tongue in little circles around every spot he came to. Bruce’s back arched a little each time and he couldn’t help the gasps that escaped his mouth.

Shirt fully removed and discarded, Clint sat up to take in the view while skilfully removing Bruce’s belt in one fell swoop. Bruce’s hands had automatically slid down from Clint’s waist to his thighs. He had a brief attack of inferiority as he felt Clint’s immaculately built leg muscles, but a quick glance at the bulge in the other man’s pants told him Clint wasn’t exactly disappointed.

“God, you’re sexy,” Clint said before urgently leaning over and kissing him again, working on removing Bruce’s pants.

Bruce decided getting naked was indeed, a very good idea but before his fingers found their way to Clint’s zipper, the archer changed position and rolled his hips, grinding their bodies together. Bruce nearly lost it there and then as he felt Clint’s erection work against his own.

It was then he felt a stir from the Other Guy.

An instant fear tensed his entire body and he screwed his eyes tightly shut. _Not now, no, no, please no…_

“Did I hurt you?” Clint asked, immediately stopping at the sudden physical reaction. Bruce could feel his gaze on him but was too busy trying to regain the control he’d let slip away to open his eyes and meet it.

“No, just…” Bruce opened his eyes and from Clint’s reaction, he guessed he was losing his battle.

“Oh, shit.”

Instead of leaping off the bed and running out the room as a fast as possible, Clint stayed where he was. “What can I do?”

Bruce moaned in frustration, trying desperately to cling to control. All the progress he’d made keeping the Hulk in check, all the meditating and mental power, and one make-out session with Clint Barton sent it all to hell. “Nothing, just… give me a second.”

But his head was flooding with emotions. He tried to regain a steady breathing pattern, but it wasn’t easy with Clint still on top of him.

“I can’t… I… can you just, um…”

Clint took the hint and shifted off the bed. “You okay or do I need to get the kind of protection I wasn’t hoping to need tonight?” he asked, only a slip of trepidation in his tone.

Bruce wasn’t sure he was laughing or crying. He managed to sit up, holding his head as if trying to cram the Hulk back in. He was gaining mental ground. “This was a bad idea.”

“No, no, no, it was the opposite of a bad idea; it was a fucking awesome idea,” Clint denied. “Just, we’ll have to work on the execution is all.”

Bruce finally found the calm returning to him. His breathing slowed to a steady rhythm.

“I thought he only came out when you got angry,” Clint said, pondering aloud.

“That or… excessively stimulated,” Bruce replied.

“Oh,” Clint said, drawing out the sound in realisation. Bruce thought he heard a hint of self-satisfaction in there as well. He let it slide. Clint had earned it, after all.

“I’m sorry. I should have known this would… this was a mistake.” Bruce grabbed his shirt from the floor and started to put it back on.

“Come on, Doc, you don’t mean that,” Clint said, touching his arm lightly.

Bruce batted his hand away. He couldn’t believe the lack of fear or urgency in Clint’s voice. He didn’t seem to understand how much danger he had been in; how much danger he’d _always_ be in if they tried this again.

“I don’t want to hurt you!” Bruce snapped, then closed his eyes again as he felt a surge of familiar anger start at his core. He stood perfectly still, like he was trying not to set off a land mine.

Clint stepped back, holding up his hands. “You won’t.”

“You can’t pr- _I_ can’t promise that. I’m sorry,” Bruce told him. And looking at the hurt in Clint’s eyes, he really was desperately sorry. He finished buttoning up his shirt and picked up his shoes. “I have to go.”

Bruce was already out in the corridor when Clint called after him.

“Please, just leave me alone.” Bruce wasn’t sure whom his reply was meant for.

 

End of Chapter Four

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ending? I'm sorry. That was mean.


	5. Long Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't read any comics yet so I take a few creative liberties here.

Bruce woke up and enjoyed the blissful half a second in which he didn’t remember the previous night’s events. When the memories did come creeping back he put his hands over his eyes as if the act would make it all go away. Well, not all of it, just the end. As much as he’d like to blame the Hulk, he knew it was his own fault. He should never have let it get that far. But Clint did something to Bruce that scrambled his thoughts and short-circuited his carefully tuned control. For a moment – for more than a few moments - Bruce had actually _forgotten_ about the Hulk, and that was unacceptable. The truth was: control was integral to Bruce’s state of being, and Clint made him lose it.

Bruce’s phone rang. It was Tony, ruining his plans of hiding in bed all day. He sounded excited about something so Bruce told him he’d be right there. In the vain hope it would provide a distraction, Bruce pulled himself out of bed and got dressed.

As he made his way up to Tony’s lab, he prayed he wouldn’t run into Clint. He wasn’t prepared to face him just yet. Bruce felt monumentally guilty for endangering him, for snapping, for running out. It could have been worse, he supposed. At least he’d managed to control the Hulk.

“Banner, where have you been? Never mind, look at this.”

Tony grabbed Bruce by the shoulders and led him hurriedly to one of the benches.

“Morning, Tony, how are you?” Bruce said sarcastically.

“Yeah, yeah. I showed this to Steve but it went over his head since well, you know… he’s Steve.” Tony picked up something with a pair of tweezers and held in front of Bruce’s nose.

“What am I looking at?” Bruce’s eyes finally focused on a tiny piece of what looked like brass.

“Proof that someone tampered with my stuff. This was embedded in the hardwiring of the door’s control panel. I almost missed it.”

Bruce took it from him and studied it. “And that’s what caused it to fail?”

“Yup,” Tony confirmed.

“You’re sure it was put there on purpose?” Bruce asked.

Tony nodded. “In exactly the right spot,” he said. “Or the wrong spot, if you’re me, suffocating. Someone knew what they were doing.”

Bruce wasn’t entirely convinced. The metal fragment could have come from anywhere. But Tony looked so excited he felt bad about crushing his spirits. “Okay. But I can’t see Director Fury or Captain Rogers thinking much of it. Maybe we should look for something else to show them.”

“You wanna help?” Tony asked, expectantly.

Bruce smiled. “Sure.” It wasn’t as if he had anything else to do but hide.

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

Clint wasn’t in his bed, he knew that much. He hadn’t been dreaming, he knew that too. If he’d been dreaming he would be wide awake now, gasping and clawing for breath and normality. Instead he seemed to be standing up, which was especially strange. Water was flowing over his hands, which were trembling. When his vision finally focused, Clint could see his own face reflected in his bathroom mirror.

He had no recollection of getting up and moving into the bathroom. He didn’t even remember going to bed. What’s more, he must have fallen asleep in his clothes because he was wearing the same outfit he’d had on the night before. His head was cloudy, like he was drunk, even though he’d only had a couple of beers the previous night. Six hours of Die Hard might have been to blame, but deep down Clint knew there was another reason; something he couldn’t quite get a hold of. He felt _wrong_.

His head was pounding. Clint had never had a migraine but this sure as hell fit the bill. As he blinked to shake off the feeling, he saw images behind his eyes. Warning signs. Do Not Enter. Authorised Personnel Only. Loki, smiling widely. Maybe he _had_ been dreaming again. Maybe he was still dreaming.

That theory was out the window when Clint tried to move and was greeted with a wave of nausea hitting him head on. _Definitely not a dream._ He managed to turn in time to reach the toilet basin, retching up his stomach’s contents. At this rate, he may as well as have been drinking. His head was _creaking_. He felt like he had the worst hangover he’d ever had. When everything was gone, Clint brought himself back from the edge of hyperventilating and slumped against the bathroom wall.

 _“How’s the investigation going?”_ He’d asked Tasha just before the unplanned movie night had come to an end.  “ _Did a psycho patient kill Doctor Marlowe and take her place or what?”_

“No,” she'd said, hesitating. Clint always worried when Tash hesitated.

“Then what? You must have found something,” he pressed.

“I did,” she confirmed. “Marlowe was romantically involved with another SHIELD operative, Jason Morris.”

“And?”

“He was killed on the Hellcarrier when…” There was a beat while Natasha tried to find the right words, “when you and the others attacked under Loki’s orders.”

Clint felt a familiar knot in his chest.

“She shouldn’t have been interviewing you. Someone screwed up.”

Someone screwed up. Yeah. Clint, when he failed to even get a single hit in before Loki mindfucked him. Clint, when he couldn’t fight the spell that infected his body and brain. Clint, when he attacked and killed his own people. Marlowe had been perfectly within her rights to hate him.

_“Weren’t you and Banner supposed to be on a date tonight?”_

And then there was Bruce. Telling him it was all a mistake, a bad idea, he was sorry. Clint didn’t want him to be sorry. It wasn’t a mistake – maybe a little rash, but not a mistake. Being close to him made Clint feel like he wasn’t such a screw-up, like maybe there was hope for him yet. He pressed his palms into his temple, mentally kicking himself. It was getting harder to do this, to put on a façade and walk out the door pretending everything was fine. Everything was so much easier with Bruce. Something about the Doc made him forget about his mistakes and feel like his normal self, before all this Loki alien bullshit.

Clint pulled himself up from the floor. Natasha had said Fury would call in the morning with an update. Clint assumed it was morning. He had another layer of thick fatigue to add to his building insanity. He decided to change into some fresh clothes and go to the roof to wait for Fury’s call. He felt the need to watch normal people hurry about their normal lives, and maybe pretend for a little while that he was one of them.

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

“So, did Barton jump your bones last night?” Tony asked, completely out of the blue.

“What?” Bruce turned around quickly, accidentally knocking a beaker on the floor. It smashed, the liquid inside hissing before becoming inert.

Stark, completely unfazed, didn’t even take his eyes off his own work. “I’ll take _that_ as a yes. Awesome. Steve owes me fifty bucks.”

Bruce wondered how Tony knew. Maybe there really was security footage from outside Clint’s room last night. It wasn’t like it was a big secret, but Bruce wasn’t sure he was quite ready for everybody to know – not when he didn’t know what was going on himself. “Wait, you were betting on me and Clint…”

“Hooking up?” Tony finished for him. “Yeah. We figured it was just a matter of time after I dickishly gatecrashed your date – sorry by the way; if I’d known you two wanted some alone time I’d have left a sock on the doorknob or something. You know, if this place had doorknobs.”

“Well,” Bruce began. He picked up the larger pieces of the smashed beaker. “Apology accepted. But I’d prefer you not to bet on my personal life, if it’s all the same to you. We didn’t, anyway. Hook up, I mean.”

“Really?” Tony sounded surprised. “Could you tell Steve you did?”

“No!” Somehow Bruce doubted Steve had much to do with the supposed bet. It was probably more a case of Tony noticing them holding hands and gossiping about it with Steve – who would have no doubt declared it none of their business. At least Tony didn’t mention any video footage…

“Oh. Okay,” Tony said, only barely disappointed. “So why didn’t you? I thought you suited each other. In a weird kind of way.”

“You did?” Bruce asked, but mentally cancelled the line of inquiry. It was irrelevant. “It doesn’t matter. I can’t… with anyone. It’s too dangerous.”

“Seriously?” Tony replied, looking up. “So, what, you’re just gonna deny yourself any fun for the rest of you life? That sounds like a great plan.”

“No,” Bruce denied. “Just until I find a cure.” It had sounded like a better plan in his head.

“And how long’s that gonna take?” Tony asked, before answering his own rhetorical question. “Years? Decades? You may never find a cure. So what are you gonna do? Live in misery? _Live without sex?_ ‘Cause I can tell you now, my friend, that is not living.”

Bruce swept up the rest of the glass, trying not to let Tony get to him. “You don’t understand.”

“You’re right,” Tony replied. “I don’t.”

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

A couple of hours later, Bruce was starting to think like a conspiracy theorist. There were too many discrepancies in JARVIS’ security protocols to be coincidence. They talked about who had the technical skills to achieve the deception, about suspects and motives (motives was a long conversation during which Tony had a lot of conflicting feelings), but in the back of Bruce’s mind, Clint was waiting, chipping away a the wall Bruce had put him behind. Tony’s special brand of advice was actually starting to sink in. And more surprisingly, it was starting to make sense.

“I think you’re right,” Bruce said, breaking the comfortable silence.

Tony looked up from his tablet. “Sure I am,” he replied. “About what?”

“About me. Clint. Being happy.”

“Oh, that. Why don’t you go find him?” Tony suggested, making it sound like the easiest thing in the world. “I think he’s nesting on the roof.”

Bruce hadn’t been expecting to have to act so quickly. Usually he liked to prepare – or more accurately; debate, worry and panic – before jumping into what was bound to be an awkward conversation.

“What about your investigation?” Bruce asked.

“I reckon we’ve got enough evidence to make a case here. Go,” Tony insisted. “Though I don’t recommend roof sex. Not only due to safety concerns, but it turns out cameras can still find you up there,” Tony said, obviously having had previous experience. “Is nowhere sacred?” he asked nobody in particular.

Bruce ignored the sex comments and took the underlying kindness that was buried in there somewhere. He’d learned pretty quickly you had to apply a filter to most of what Tony said but he was basically a decent guy. “Thanks. I’ll see you later.”

“Right. Don’t let me see you censored on the six o’clock news!” Tony called after him.

Bruce didn’t grace that with a response.

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

Bruce had decided life was too short to debate, worry and panic. Clint was waiting on the roof just as Tony said. He was standing so close to edge Bruce wanted to grab him and pull him back. Unsure of rooftop etiquette, he cleared his throat at the door rather than walking straight out. He certainly didn’t want to startle Clint while he was standing so precariously.

Clint turned round and smiled, but there was a lot missing from it. “Hey, Doc.”

“Can I er, come in? Or out, I guess?” Bruce asked.

“Yeah. I was going to find you later.” Clint didn’t follow up the statement with anything else, just turned to look over the city again.

“I wanted to apologise for running off like I did,” Bruce began.

“You don’t have to, I get it,” Clint countered. “I should have thought about you… your situation. I was selfish.”

“Well, if you were, you weren’t the only one.”

Bruce wasn’t sure what to say next. He had a sinking feeling this was the end of something that barely had a chance to start. A feeling that was immediately proven wrong.

“Maybe if we took things slower?” Clint suggested. “Actually went on a one-to-one date … that is, if you still want to. I mean, I think there’s something here worth going for, don’t you?”

Bruce’s heart leapt. It meant the world that Clint hadn’t given up on them yet. “I do,” he said, unable to help the grin that spread across his features. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so wanted.

Clint beamed too, everything missing from the smile before replaced. “Awesome. So, a date, or two, or three. Conversation, even. Then when you’re ready, we can…” Clint searched the sky for the right word, “Experiment.”

“I do like experiments,” Bruce agreed.

Clint placed his hands on Bruce’s shoulders and turned him so they were face to face. “I will do my best to make you like them on a whole new level.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

Then the smile vanished from Clint’s face. His gaze shifted from Bruce to something in the distance behind him.

“What’s wrong?”

Clint took his hands away from Bruce and pointed beyond him. “What the hell is that?”

Bruce followed his troubled stare to the horizon, where a tremendous black dust cloud was rolling towards the city. It moved slowly but engulfed everything it touched. The sounds of chaos started to rise from the distance – car horns blaring, far-off screams, tyres screeching.

“That… does not look good,” Bruce said.

“Yeah, no kidding.” Clint wasted no time open a comm. channel. “Avengers, assemble. We’ve got some weird shit going down in the city.” Clint met Bruce’s eyes again. “Rain check?”

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

Half an hour or so later, the Avengers were quite literally in the thick of it. Stark had equipped everyone with infrared goggles to see in the smoke, which had turned into a heavy stationary fog blanketing the streets. Tony donned his Iron Man suit and flew over the city, reporting that the fog went as far as he could see. The source was still unknown.

Stark Tower was one of the taller buildings that broke through the surface of the haze like a hand from the grave. It was with mixed feelings that Clint let Bruce go to join the others.

Then there was the fucking lizard people.

Jet black skin, moved like their blood was pure caffeine and claws that could tear up concrete. Clint watched them, reporting their movements to the others. Their goal seemed to be mostly death and chaos, which they were achieving.

“As much as I’m enjoying killing these things, we’ve got to find where they’re coming from,” Iron Man’s voice came over the comm. link. He was probably the best equipped to deal with this situation. He could see the slimy fuckers and sweep through the streets cleaning them up by the dozen.

“Hawkeye, you got anything?” Cap asked. Steve was organising getting pedestrians into safe buildings and barricading themselves in. Black Widow was providing cover.

“They’re definitely coming from the South. That’s all I got,” Clint replied, taking out another glorified lizard from afar. Though he met his target, the effort and time it took was way above Clint’s average. His training was keeping his head on straight but his movements were sluggish from the lack of sleep. Thankfully, the tremors hadn’t made an appearance, or he’d be lucky to take out even one of the invading aliens, they moved so erratically and quickly.

He had to admit, though only to himself, that he was keeping a close eye on the Hulk too. Bruce had let the Other Guy take over as soon as the bad guys showed up, and he was taking them out quite happily. Until now. The alien invaders had realised they didn’t stand a chance against the Hulk, at least not individually. A group of at least ten were swarming him, slashing and clinging with their razor claws. As soon as Hulk dispatched one, two more would join the tussle. He should have been able to handle them but for some reason he was letting himself get overwhelmed.

“Hulk’s getting swamped on West 59th, he could use some help,” Clint told the other Avengers.

“We’ll be there in five, we’ve got to get these people to safety,” Rogers replied, sounding out of breath.

“Little busy here,” came Iron Man’s reply. One of the creatures had leapt onto his suit and they’d careened into a building.

Clint looked back to the Hulk. There must have been twenty of them on him now. Clint could hear him roaring, more likely in anger than pain but it didn’t stop Clint’s protective instincts kick into overdrive. “I’m going to help.”

“Negative, Hawkeye, we need your eyes in the sky,” Rogers said.

Clint was already on his way down. “Didn’t catch that, Cap, smoke must be interfering with your signal.”

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

Clint wasn’t prepared for quite how strange it was being in the fog. It lightly crackled on his skin and tickled his throat when he breathed. It wasn’t unpleasant or painful, just… weird. Through the goggles Stark had provided, Clint managed to find the Hulk with relative ease, his huge form lit up like a Christmas tree through the visor.

“Hulk, I got your back!” Clint yelled when he was close enough.

Hulk turned towards the shout and proceeded to throw one of the lizards into the air like a clay pigeon. Hawkeye shot it through the heart – or at least where he guessed the heart was. It killed the damn thing, so it was a good a spot as any.

Ten minutes later they had taken out the last one, Clint firing an arrow close range into its head. Clint smiled at the Big Guy, but it faded when he noticed Hulk was breathing strangely and his eyes were oddly glazed.

“You okay, Jade Jaws?”

Hulk grunted and staggered a little.

“Guys, is this fog affecting your breathing?” Clint asked the others. He realised that Tasha was really the only one who could adequately answer since Cap had a super immune system and Iron Man was bound to have all kinds of filters on the suit.

“We’re fine. Seems the comms are too now, huh?” Steve said over the radio.

Clint ignored the remark. He’d deal with the consequences of disobeying orders later. “Hulk’s not doing so great.”

“Can you get him to higher ground?” The Captain asked.

“With what? A giant catapult?” Clint replied.

The link broke when Clint heard shouting. It was Steve and Tasha - they sounded busy. The Hulk started to stagger down the street in the opposite direction.

“Hey!” Clint called after him. “You gotta get out of this crap!”

Hulk didn’t turn round, just grunted in defiance.

“Hulk!” Clint picked up the nearest projectile, which happened to be a detached wing mirror from a once beautiful Benz, and hurled it at the Big Guy’s head.

That got his attention. Hulk turned and snarled at Clint, who stood his ground. “You have to let him back out. This stuff’s affecting you, but it might not affect him.”

Hulk bit the air with a growl, approaching him with dubious intent.

“Don’t make me tranq you!” Clint said defiantly.

Hulk roared so close to his face that he closed his eyes at the rush of air, but the Other Guy began to shrink. Watching the transformation would never stop being a source of fascination and horror for Clint. The sound his bones made as they reduced made him cringe. He was glad Bruce had said he didn’t remember much about it, because it sounded like agony.

Finally Hulk was gone. Clint caught Bruce as his body sagged with exhaustion. He was still conscious, but barely.

“Welcome back, Freckles,” Clint greeted.

“Is it over?” Bruce slurred.

“Not quite,” Clint said, pulling Bruce’s arm round his shoulders for support. “We gotta get out of the street. Can you walk?”

“Mm… don’t think so.”

Clint helped Bruce get to the nearest building, which turned out to be some kind of department store. One of the windows was shattered and Clint tried best to stop Bruce’s feet from being dragged through the debris. The smoke wasn’t so thick inside and Clint was able to push his goggles up onto his head and see adequately enough. Once they were safely inside, Clint propped the scientist up against a counter.

“How you doing, Doc? Still with me?” Clint asked, checking Bruce’s eyes. He didn’t really know what to look for medically, but it was comforting that Bruce met his stare with the same brown beauties he knew and loved.

“With you enough to know I’m naked and kinda chilly,” Bruce replied groggily.

“Well, I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t noticed,” Clint grinned. “Let’s take care of that, shall we?” He grabbed a shirt and some pants from the near vicinity, holding them up to check they were roughly the right size.

“That’s stealing,” Bruce said, watching him.

“Fury can pay later. Unless you’d rather stay naked, which is fine with me, by the way.”

Bruce closed his eyes and rested his head against the counter. “Where are the others?”

“Saving the day,” Clint said, putting a hideously patterned sweater back on the display.

“We didn’t win yet?” Bruce asked, confused.

“’Fraid not,” Clint told him. “The smoke was affecting the Other Guy so I made him let you back out.”

Bruce squinted. “You… made him?” he repeated slowly.

Clint nodded. “Uh-huh.”

“How’d you do that?”

“I just told him I’d rather look at you.” Clint grinned devilishly and handed over the clothes, patting Bruce lightly on the cheek. “Put these on. We can’t stay here.” He went over to the storefront and looked down the street. They were alone for the time being.

“Cap, do you read? I’m with Bruce at West 59th, we’re going to try to get to higher ground.”

“Understood,” Steve replied. “We’re moving south to locate the source.”

Clint turned back to Bruce. “Sorry, Freckles, we gotta move.”

After consulting the store map, which was just the most bizarre thing Clint had ever done in the middle of a war zone, they located the elevators. Bruce could walk better now but still needed support. Clint didn’t mind giving it. Once inside, Clint hit the highest number on the panel and cringed as the musak started playing.

“You saved my life,” Bruce said unprompted.

“I saved it a little,” Clint replied, finally able to take a moment to catch his breath.

“You actually talked the Hulk into letting me out.” Bruce’s words were lazy, like he was about to fall asleep. “You’re incredible.”

Clint laughed. “Isn’t that what they say about you?”

“And you want to date me? Really? Because I’m dubious. You’re so… and I’m so…”

“Okaaay. You seem a little woozy there, Doc, you okay?” Clint didn’t like that Bruce wasn’t sobering like he should be.

“Hmm,” Bruce sighed. “I think maybe whatever was affecting the Hulk, is still in my system,” he reasoned. “I suspect it’s much better this way round though.”

“Yeah, I’d say so,” Clint agreed. “An amorous Hulk is not something I want to see.”

“Well, you may have to. Who knows where our experiments will lead us,” Bruce said, making little fluttering hand gestures that meant who knew what.

Clint couldn’t help laugh. So this is what Bruce was like drunk. It was certainly not the way he’d envisaged the rest of the day going. Stuck in an elevator with a tipsy nuclear physicist wearing a hideous lime green shirt (Clint had chosen the colour completely subconsciously - maybe), listening to god-awful musak while aliens invaded the city outside. Life certainly did have a way of saying ‘hey, things aren’t weird enough. Try this!’

The elevator pinged to indicate they’d reached the top floor. Clint sat Bruce down just outside the roof access door. “Wait here while I check it out, okay?”

“Okay,” Bruce said happily. “My god. Your ass is amazing,” he added when Clint stood up to leave.

“Thank-you, Bruce,” was all Clint could think of to say. He filed away the compliment for later. “Try not to fall asleep or die.”

Bruce gave a lazy salute in concordance and Clint exited the building. When he got outside the skies were changing. The sound of thunder rolled through the sky and lightning crackled through the clouds. A physical ache suddenly started in Clint’s chest. His hands started to shake.

Thor was coming.

“Well, it’s about time!” he heard Tony say over the comm.

The clouds began to twirl into a vortex, bolts of electricity leaping from them. Clint watched as the black fog below him started to shift, vapour being sucked upwards like wisps of cotton. The force grew stronger and Clint glimpsed the Norse God flying impossibly within the storm. Thor’s vortex was inhaling the smoke, lifting the shroud off the city, and giving the Avengers the vantage they need to clean up the incursion.

Clint’s heartbeat quickened and his chest grew tighter. He knew the way he should be feeling. The fight was turning in their favour, Thor was back, the team was back together. He could hear Tony whooping with delight at the change of tide.

But there was an insidious, vile emotion rising from within Clint that was not his own. It had been there since the first nightmare, festering like a cancer, but now it rose up so quickly it was paralysing. The tight grip around his bow turned Clint’s knuckles white and he could only stand and watching, flooded with rage and heartbreak, as the smoke disappeared.

He didn’t know how long he stood there. There might have been some comm. chatter, Clint couldn’t even be sure of that. Thor disappeared into the distance, to the south, and the foreign emotions subsided enough for Clint to hear the door open behind him.

“Thor’s back? That was good timing, huh?” Bruce said.

Clint tried to compose himself before he turned around. His head overflowed with confusion, like he waking from another nightmare. He took a few deep breaths and turned around. Bruce looked a little unsteady on his feet still, but he seemed more alert.

“Feeling better?” Clint asked, shocked at how unsteady his own voice sounded.

“Yeah. Hey, your nose is bleeding,” Bruce pointed out, concerned. “Are you okay?”

Clint hadn’t noticed the drip of warm blood seeping from his nostril. He wiped it away with his thumb, glancing at the crimson. “Oh. Uh, yeah. Fine.”

“Dandy?” Bruce asked goofily.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Clint replied. He activated his comm. link. “Somebody wanna give us an update? Me and Banner are feeling a little ditched back here,” Clint said. He surprised even himself that he could joke after what he’d just experienced. Denial was just another honed skill Clint had in his arsenal.

“Never send boys and a lady to do a Norse God’s job, I guess,” Iron Man replied before Captain America had the chance to. “Wow, that’s a tongue twister.”

“Thor closed the portal, or… whatever it was,” Steve explained. “The lizards… or whatever they were, can’t seem to breath without the smoke. Or whatever that was. I think they’re dying.”

“I can only apologise for my delay, brothers and sister!” Thor’s voice boomed, picked up by everyone else’s communicators. “Heimdall saw your peril and I came as quickly as I could.”

“Better late than never,” Natasha said. “Welcome back.”

Clint couldn’t bring himself to say the same.

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

SHIELD got left with cleaning up the lizard corpses, and figuring out exactly where they came from. Bruce, Clint and Natasha got checked out and cleared by a medic while the others invaded a bar that didn’t smell from rotting lizards. Unlike their post-Loki shawarma feast, the bar was loud and jovial. Clearly they hadn’t over-extended themselves quite so much during this invasion.

Bruce, however, watched everyone with slightly wearier eyes. Whatever had been affecting the Hulk and him to a lesser degree had subsided, but he was still tired.  He didn’t join in the various activities around him. Thor and Natasha were matching each other drink for drink. Tony was giving out autographs, still in his Iron Man suit. Steve was talking to a swooning bartender, who happened to be named Kurt. Bruce had been watching Clint since they arrived. He’d had been at the pool table playing some students for most of the evening. He seemed quiet since they regrouped at the bar but Bruce wasn’t quite sure what was bothering him. After Clint finished skilfully taking the youths’ disposable income, he started putting on his jacket.

Bruce slid off his barstool and stopped him before he got to the door. “Hey, you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m gonna head back,” he said, turning up his collar. “Tell the others I said bye? If I do it they’ll suck me into their contest and there’s no way I can compete with a Russian and a god.”

“Wait, I’ll come with you,” Bruce said.

“Stay. You earned this,” Clint said. “Have a few drinks, enjoy yourself.”

“I don’t want to stay.” Bruce put his hand on Clint’s arm and felt along the length of it.  “I want to go with you.”

Clint reached up and stroked his face lightly. “What about our plan? Dates? Conversation?”

Bruce had thought it sounded like a great idea at the time. But after the day they’d had, all he wanted to do was lose himself in Clint’s arms, kiss him until the day was a distant memory. He thought for a minute. “I thoroughly enjoyed the department store and our talk about your ass. Does that count?”

Clint grinned and shrugged. “I think so if you think so.”

“I think so.”

 

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“I think things would go a lot smoother if… if I was in control,” Bruce told Clint during one of the brief moments where their lips weren’t otherwise occupied. “For the time being, at least.”

Clint was totally, completely, enthusiastically okay with that. After almost depriving each other of oxygen in the elevator all the way up, they’d ended up in Bruce’s room, simply because it was the closest. He apologised for the state of it, but Clint didn’t seem to have noticed.

“Wait, just one second,” Bruce said, and tore himself away from Clint’s embrace long enough to scramble some essentials together. Namely condoms, lube and a tranquilliser gun.

“Really?” Clint asked.

Bruce shrugged. “Can’t be too careful.”

Bruce moved in to lick Clint’s lips, slowly and sweetly at first, before coaxing his mouth open with his tongue. Clint drank him in with his whole body, their arms wrapping around each other like it was the natural state of being. Bruce moved his hands under Clint’s shirt, kneading his back, and the other man moaned into his mouth. Bruce would never tire of that sound.

Bruce took the lead, moving them to the bed, slowly losing clothes as they went. He had wanted this so badly and the hunger was starting to show. Breaths became heavy and desperate, hands roamed wildly, Bruce could feel Clint’s swell against his own as they climbed onto the mattress, Bruce on top this time. He left a light kiss on Clint’s lips, the first of the trail moving down his chest, past his navel. With every one he felt Clint tremble, until Bruce stopped to remove his pants and boxers.

“Oh fuck, Bruce,” Clint whispered.

Bruce used every trick he knew to tease those words from him again, sucking and licking and kissing Clint’s cock, savouring every shudder and gasp he got for it. Bruce suddenly had no idea why they hadn’t done this a long time ago. When Clint was on the brink, he told Bruce, who took all he could in his mouth to swallow when the other man came.

“Oh my god,” Clint breathed as his body collapsed in satisfaction. “You’re amazing.”

Bruce smiled and watched Clint’s chest rise and fall. “I prefer the term ‘incredible’,” Bruce said, knowing it was ridiculously cheesy.

Clint took it in the right spirit and laughed, pushing himself up, his skin glistening with a light sweat. He kissed Bruce with already tender lips and moved to slip his hand into Bruce’s undone pants. “Let me?” he asked, his voice heavy with expectation.

Bruce’s breath caught in his throat. A release would be unthinkably amazing; Clint’s orgasm had brought him close to the edge as it was, but he wasn’t still wasn’t sure if he could handle Clint bringing him to climax.

“Just tell me what to do,” Clint said. “I won’t do anything you don’t want.”

Bruce swallowed and could only manage a nod in eager agreement. Bruce didn’t know how they’d managed to build up such a level of trust in just a few weeks, but he felt certain he was in safe hands.

Clint pulled off Bruce’s pants and boxers and manoeuvred so they were face-to-face, legs interlocking of their own accord, before taking Bruce’s erection in his hand. Bruce’s whole body sparked alive with sensation at the contact. He focused his mind not unlike when he meditated. He could control himself. Clint could control the Hulk. There was nothing to be afraid of.

Bruce moaned as Clint started stroking his shaft, lightly squeezing as he did so.

“Good?”

“Mm, yeah.”

Clint continued, skilfully working under Bruce’s cues; faster, harder, slower, _oh god,_ _just like that_. Through shivers of gratification and escaped gasps, Bruce had never felt so alive. It was hot and sweaty and gloriously lustful, and Clint looked so damn beautiful in the low light, squeezing and caressing his cock. It wasn’t long before Bruce was on the edge.

“Ready?” Clint breathed.

“ _God, yes_ ,” Bruce managed to say.

Clint kissed him hard, and moved his fingers just right, bringing Bruce to perfect orgasm. His body shuddered with pleasure until it wilted, utterly spent. Both men fell back on the bed in satisfaction, breath heavy with relief. When Bruce finally caught his, he thought it only appropriate to say, “That was… the best experiment ever.”

Clint laughed. “I promised, didn’t I?”

“That you did.” Bruce could feel his eyelids drooping. It had been a long, weird day. But the ending couldn’t have been more perfect.

“Can I sleep here?” Clint said tiredly.

Bruce looked over to see he had already closed his eyes. “Yeah, I’d like that,” he replied.

Clint shimmied up the bed until they were next to each other. They shared a sleepy, raw kiss before Clint draped his arm over Bruce’s chest and settled. Bruce couldn’t remember the last time he fell asleep so happy.

 

End of Chapter Five

 

 

 

 

 

 


	6. Awake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love all manner of feedback, so thank you so much :D

Clint woke from the grips of his horror choking for air. The sadness seemed to swallow up every happy moment in his life. With bitter resentment and betrayal it swamped his heart, extinguishing everything else. As his hands scrambled for purchase and his eyes sought phantoms, he heard someone calling his name.

“Hey, Clint, it’s okay! You’re safe.”

Clint found Bruce’s eyes in the dark and saw deep concern. The relief Clint felt realising the nightmare was over was quickly replaced with vulnerability.

“Fuck,” he cursed, rubbing his eyes. He tried to laugh it off, but it just came out as a bizarre sob. He kicked himself for falling asleep.

“Holy shit, Clint,” Bruce said, considerably more awake than he had probably been five minutes ago. “You scared me.”

“Sorry,” Clint replied. It must have been bad to make Bruce swear, he thought. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard the Doc curse. “I thought… thought if I went to sleep happy maybe…” he trailed off because of course it wasn’t going to be that simple. Why the hell should anything be that simple? He’d fleetingly considered leaving Bruce and returning to his own bed, but he’d been so happily exhausted it seemed impossible at the time. So he’d dismissed the idea, thinking maybe his mind would rest as happy as his body. Right. Instead he was faced with exactly what he didn’t want; someone seeing exactly how fucked up he’d become.

“This happens a lot?” Bruce extrapolated, shock and concern in his tone.

Clint was exhausted. It took so much effort convincing himself he was fine, he had run out of energy to lie to someone else. “For a couple of weeks now,” he admitted. He moved away, over to the edge of the bed, swinging his legs to touch the cold floor, and rested his head in his hands.

“Since Loki,” Bruce concluded.

Clint loved how the whole ordeal can be summed up in that one little word. He laughed though nothing was funny. “Since Loki,” he repeated.

“Maybe you should tell someone about this, get some help.”

“I don’t need help.” It was more of a reflex than a truth. Clint tousled his own hair and turned around, his poker face back on. “I’m okay, really.”

Bruce was the opposite of convinced. “You’re not okay.”

“It’s nothing I can’t handle,” Clint insisted, not believing it. “It’s just a few nightmares.”

“But it’s not, is it?” Bruce said.

Clint didn’t bother denying it. Bruce was a smart guy. Clint could feel the scientist’s eyes on him, dissecting him, analysing his behaviour. He was putting together a terrible puzzle that would inevitably end in the full picture – Clint Barton was a fucking headcase.

“You can talk to me, you know?” Bruce said. “If you want.”

Clint genuinely hadn’t expected that. Maybe it was because he hadn’t been this close to anyone in a while, or maybe because he hadn’t been close to someone like Bruce before. Whatever the reason, he was grateful. “Thanks,” he said. “Mind if we just go back to sleep?”

Bruce gave a reassuring smile. “Whatever you want.”

“Can you shoot me with that tranq gun so I can get a decent night’s sleep?” Clint asked, trying to lighten the mood.

“If you wake me up like that again, you’ll be shooting the Other Guy with the tranq gun.”

Clint settled back down, Bruce’s eyes following him until he closed his own. He knew this wouldn’t be the end of the conversation in the long run, but for now he was glad Bruce had given him some proverbial space. Bruce fell asleep first. Clint tried not to, but ultimately failed as the sound of Bruce’s steady breathing sent him away.

 

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Bruce tended to wake up when he wanted. He often found alarm clocks were a bad idea in his present condition, and other people tended to agree. So when an irritating alarm infiltrated Bruce’s REM, he knew it had to be for a good reason. The cloudy haze of whatever dream he’d been having was soon lifted as he felt the bed beneath him shift. Clint was rolling over to reach the source of the noise, cursing like a trooper under his breath.

Clint. For a brief moment all Bruce remembered was the good stuff. He couldn’t help stare at Clint’s naked body, the white sheets impossibly tangled around his hips. But reality soon tapped Bruce on the shoulder.

“Barton,” Clint growled into his phone. “This better be good.”

Bruce rubbed the tiredness from his eyes, remembering the disturbing epilogue to the otherwise amazing evening. Whatever was happening inside the archer’s head during the nightmare must have been terrifying judging by the way he was thrashing in the covers.

Clint seemed much calmer now, if a little irritated at being woken up at… what time was it, anyway? It was light enough outside for morning to have broken. Bruce could have craned his neck to see the clock but for some reason (and not just the obvious superficial one), he couldn’t take his eyes off Clint. His shoulders fell a little and he closed his eyes. Whatever the caller was telling him must have been bad news.

“Son of a bitch,” Clint said. “When was the last report from inside?”

Bruce’s concern grew as the unheard side of the conversation continued.

“The others?” Clint asked.

Bruce couldn’t help concocting wild stories to try and fit the pieces of conversation together but waited patiently for Clint to hang up and apprise him of whatever was going on.

Clint finally finished the call, visibly tense and alert. “Alright. I’ll be there,” he said, tossing the phone on the bed. Suddenly wide-awake, he turned to Bruce. “Damn it, I gotta go.”

“What’s going on, what’s wrong?” Bruce asked, sitting up.

Clint swivelled round and started picking up his clothes from the floor.

“Research team were dissecting one of the lizard corpses. Turns out ‘corpse’ was kind of a misnomer.”

“It wasn’t dead?” Bruce asked, horrified. Visions of horror movie villains springing back to life came to mind. Not that he’d seen any horror movies post Hulk. Generally a bad genre to delve into.

“Oh, it was dead,” Clint replied, pulling his t-shirt over his head. “Not anymore.”

“My god, they came back to life?” Bruce asked. He ran over the implications in his sluggish mind. It posed some seriously disturbing scenarios. “Is it just the one or are they all…?”

“Most of them were already being gathered and burned, but I don’t know. SHIELD kept some bodies back for research. They went to one of our facilities outside the city. We lost contact after the base went on lockdown but it’s entirely possible we have ten zombie lizards loose in there, maybe more. Never thought I’d hear myself say that outside of xbox.”

“If it’s contained in the facility, at least that’s something. I mean, still utterly horrible and terrifying but…” Bruce pondered. He hadn’t had a call yet, so chances were Fury was assembling a small strike team to deal with the problem. Small strike teams didn’t tend to include a giant ball of anti-subtle like the Hulk.

“Yeah. There’s a chopper on the roof. Fury’s probably not gonna need you on this one, but if any more of these things come out of the woodwork, who knows. You have the sexiest bedhead I’ve ever seen, by the way. Lift-off’s in ten, I gotta grab my gear and get up there.”

Bruce almost missed the compliment. Clint had buried it like he was checking to see if Bruce was paying attention. As if there was anything else Bruce could pay attention when Clint was in the room, literally half-dressed.

“Okay, well… be careful,” Bruce said, finally managing to scramble a sentence together.

Clint, finally fully-dressed, stopped and grinned. He came to Bruce’s side of the bed and kissed him as passionately as he had ever done. “Always,” he said when their lips parted.

Bruce was left a little shell-shocked by the polarity of the morning. On the one hand there were zombie lizards and disturbing nightmares, on the other; Clint and kissing and nakedness. Bruce let himself fall back on the pillow. He didn’t have to decide right away how he was feeling. It was far too early, anyway.

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

The helicopter circled the base before landing, giving Clint a chance to survey the layout. He could already see a good vantage point to set up overlooking for main exits. Fury and the team were already on the ground waiting to move. Steve, Clint and Natasha were in the chopper waiting to arrive fashionably late. Tony, Bruce and Thor were sitting on the bench for this one.

Clint couldn’t help but feel relieved that he wouldn’t have to deal with the turmoil seeing the Norse god caused in him. After Thor’s grand entrance Clint had managed to get some semblance of control over his emotions, but it hadn’t been easy. He’d been reluctant to go to the bar after the fight, but felt he should maintain appearances. Clint didn’t want to set off any alarm bells about his behaviour – he’d set off enough already – so he stayed just long enough and kept his distance from Thor and the others.

After the long day fighting aliens and after their false start on the sex front, Clint hadn’t expected Bruce to follow him when he left. But Bruce seemed sure about what he wanted, and it had led to one of the best nights Clint could remember. Or at least the part of the night _before_ he’d scared the shit out of the unsuspecting scientist. Clint wished he could have prolonged the illusion of normality (or _sanity_ , at least _)_ for a little while longer, but Bruce had seen too much now, he wasn’t going to let it lie. He wasn’t stupid.Whether or not it would get back to Fury was an unknown.

Clint would deal with that as and when. Right now there was a mission to get on with. Clint wasn’t so far gone he’d lost the ability to get on with his job. He’d been able to keep his head during the invasion. Compared to that, this was a picnic. Natasha and Steve were the ones leading the team inside; all Clint had to do was provide cover. No problem.

Fury made the briefing quick. A number of SHIELD personnel had managed to escape before the facility went into lockdown, but there wasn’t much more information to be gleaned. There’d still been no word from inside. Twenty-two scientists and security personnel were unaccounted for, trapped inside at best, dead at worst. Ten potential hostiles at least. Fury issued orders and gave the go ahead.

Clint and Natasha had a few moments before they had to split off on their separate missions.

“Where did you and Bruce get to last night?” she asked. She obviously already suspected the answer.

Clint let the tiniest of smirks slip. “It was a long day. We went to bed,” he said, purposefully ambiguous.

Natasha narrowed her gaze. Clint knew she would get the details from him sooner or later. If she wanted to know something there wasn’t much hope of stopping her.

“I’ve got your six, Widow,” Clint said. He didn’t need to tell her to be careful or wish her luck. She was good enough already.

Natasha nodded and joined her team. Clint took his position up on a nearby crane. It had the best vantage point to cover the main doors. Several other snipers took up their positions and together they surrounded the entire base. Everyone on the ground cleared the perimeter and Steve lead the team inside.

Three of the most boring hours later, nothing had happened. Well, nothing had happened from Clint’s perspective. Natasha and Steve had killed seven zombie lizards (again) and rescued nine of the scientists who’d been holed up in one of the labs. No aliens had even tried to escape the facility. Dull.

Clint spared a glance at his watch. It was 9am and it had just started raining.

“Bet you wish you’d taken the rear of the facility now, huh Hawkeye?” Reynolds asked from across the way. He was nice and snug inside a building covering the back entrances to the facility. Asshole.

“Me? Nah, it’s actually very refreshing out here, I’m sorry you’re missing it.”

Reynolds laughed and went radio silent again. Clint was tempted to continue the banter but Fury had already told them to shut the hell up when they’d got to ‘J’ in the ‘pack your suitcase’ game.

Steve’s voice came over the comm. “This is Rogers. We have injuries and casualties. Be aware Jones is leading the remaining SHIELD personnel plus wounded out of the west exit. We’ve cornered what we believe to be the last hostile in the mess hall. I’ll call in once we’ve confirmed the kill, out.”

Sure enough Jones appeared a few minutes later, leading a dozen people out of the facility. The wounded were whisked away by the medical teams standing by and the bodies of the unlucky few were taken with them. It was a difficult skill, to shut down your emotions when things like this happened. It was part of the job and they all knew it. There would be time to deal later. Clint was running out of room to store the things he’d deal with ‘later’.

Another few minutes later Steve called in the final kill.

The mission was over. More memorial services to go to. Just another day. Steve and the rest of the team emerged from the base, shoulders heavy with the weight of the people they couldn’t save. Clint put it away in the part of brain he stored these kinds of things. It seemed to be overflowing lately.

The ladder was slippery from the rain, so he took it slowly. There was no rush. Down there he would have to find out the names of the victims, find out if he knew them. He’d always liked being high up because he could watch reality from a safe distance. It made more sense from a distance.

As he made his way down to ground level, Clint had the sudden urge to call Bruce. It had come out of nowhere. Maybe it was because the scientist had a knack of making things seem less awful, and Clint really needed to feel less awful right now. He paused briefly to make the call. It rang a few times.

“Clint? Hey,” Bruce greeted sleepily.

Clint felt stupid for calling.

“Are you on your way back? Is it over?” Bruce asked.

“Yeah, it’s done. Are you still in bed?” Clint didn’t mean anything kinky by the last question. Well, maybe he did.

Bruce hadn’t detected the undertones anyway. “No, I couldn’t get back to sleep. The thought of zombie lizards has that affect on me. Are you – is everyone okay? Mission accomplished?”

“Four of our guys didn’t make it. Dead before we got here. Everyone else got out okay; we’re wrapping things up now,” Clint told him, continuing his climb down.

“Oh god, I’m sorry,” Bruce said solemnly.

“Yeah, me too,” Clint replied. “Listen, are you going to be around later?”

“I didn’t have anything planned,” Bruce said. Then after a pause he added, “Clint, about last night…”

Whether it was good or bad fortune that interrupted that particular sentence, Clint would never know. All he knew that some localised chaos had erupted behind him. Gunfire and shouting echoed from the yard. Reacting on instinct, Clint hooked his leg around the ladder to turn towards the bedlam. He could see the cause of it now – two agents down, another fucking lizard booking it away from the scene, straight towards the crane Clint happened to be hanging onto.

“What was that?” Bruce asked, still on the other end of the line. “Were those gunshots?”

 _I really am a magnet for crap lately_ , Clint thought as he moved into a better position. “Bruce, I’m gonna have to call you back,” he said, and ended the call.

It wasn’t the most awkward position from which Clint had had to make a shot, but it was awkward enough. By the time he had his bow ready and an arrow nocked, the lizard was almost at the foot of the ladder. It must have had ten bullets in it already but the damn thing was still coming. Why this one was more resilient than the rest, god only knew. Maybe it was the damn lizard king. King of the Zombie Lizards. Clint swore he’d seen that movie.

He took the shot.

The arrow pierced the alien’s skull. It tumbled over itself but finally slumped into a heap, unmoving. A swarm of agents quickly surrounded it, weapons drawn.

Clint decided against shouting down ‘you’re welcome’ and sheathed his weapon instead. He turned back to resume his descent when he caught a glimpse of something on top of the crane. By the time his brain had caught up with his eyes, it was gone. _He_ was gone. It was for less than a second, but the silhouette was unmistakable.

Loki had been peering down at him.

Clint looked away almost immediately, closing his eyes and cursing into the wind. He didn’t look up again to confirm the sighting. What was the point? He knew it wasn’t real. That fact didn’t make it any less unnerving, however. That and the fact his adrenaline levels were still up from the mission made it very difficult to suppress the fight or flight response. There was no secret third option: ‘calmly continue as if you aren’t losing your mind’. Unsettled, Clint took another step, but he was off-balance. He slipped.

Had the rain not been pelting down, he might have been able to grab onto another rung, but that wasn’t the kind of day Clint was having. Instead, while the ground was still closer than he realised, he hit it with an undignified thud, landing on his hip. It hurt like a bitch but Clint fought the urge to cry out. A dozen SHIELD agents including Captain America were standing ten feet away, and a man had his pride. Suddenly the dead alien lizard king wasn’t interesting enough and Clint felt eyes on him.

“Can all of you pretend that you didn’t see that? The falling thing, not the awesome shot to the head thing. I’d appreciate it.” Clint sat up, carefully assessing the damage he’d done.

“Hawkeye, you alright?” Steve asked, offering a hand as he approached.

“Yeah, yeah,” Clint dismissed. His hip was throbbing, but it didn’t hurt enough to be broken or fractured, he decided. “Next time I’m taking the nice cosy building.”

Clint let Steve help him to his feet and looked back to the courtyard – the agents who’d been down were okay. No more casualties to add to the list. At least that was something. Brushing himself down, Clint subconsciously sought out Natasha in the crowd, scanning for her red hair. When he laid eyes on her, she had already found him. He signalled to her that he was okay. She waved back and turned away. It was a routine they’d slipped into after missions, he didn’t think too much about it.

“Good work taking that thing down,” Steve told him. “Guess we miscounted somewhere along the line. I’m gonna take a team back in to sweep the place one more time. You should go and get yourself checked out.”

“I’m fine,” Clint dismissed mechanically.

“That’s an order, soldier,” Steve said. It sounded more like a friend asking a favour than an order, but that was part of the Captain’s charm. Clint might have argued on a normal day, but those were few and far between since the Avengers had been formed. Seeing Loki on top of the crane had shaken him up. Who was to say he wouldn’t see the spectre again, distract him when there were lives at stake?

Clint nodded and let Steve go back to work. His eyes drifted to the top of the crane, but there was nothing there. His whole side aching, Clint limped his way towards the congregation of medics bustling around the wounded agents. One of them swooped upon him as soon as he was close. A brunette with silver glasses on a round face, around thirty or so.

“I fell,” Clint muttered, feeling like an idiot.

“I saw,” the medic replied, hint of a smirk on her face.

“Well that’s great. Happy I gave everybody a laugh.”

The woman led him towards one of the ambulances. Clint leaned on the back of it.

“Oh it wasn’t that bad,” the woman said. “It could have been worse; you could have fallen from the top. Then we’d be letting the rain wash you off the concrete,” she finished, and laughed.

Clint squinted. It wasn’t particularly funny. “That’s comforting, thanks,” he said sarcastically.

The woman looked surprised at herself. “God, sorry,” she said, embarrassed. “This is kind of my first official outing.”

Clint wasn’t going to begrudge a rookie a little slack. “Well, I wish I could say it’s my first time falling off stuff,” he said, trying to put her at ease.

It seemed to work. She smiled. “Tell me if this hurts.”

The brunette newbie proceeded to poke and prod Clint’s hip, causing varying degrees of pain. She mumbled to herself and eventually stood up, smiling again. “Okay! I don’t think you’ve done any serious damage, maybe just bruised the bone, but we’ll get an x-ray to make sure it’s not fractured. You can go with any of the wagons back to base.”

“Thanks,” Clint said, smiling falsely. Getting an x-ray sounded like a waste of time. He just wanted to get back to Stark Tower, back to…

 _Shit_ , he mentally exclaimed. He’d hung up on Bruce.

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

Bruce tried to stay calm – which was the story of his life, really. He knew he shouldn’t worry. Even if the noises he’d heard were gunshots, Clint was a soldier, an Avenger, he could handle himself. He wasn’t alone, he had back-up. Everything was fine. Probably.

Such was Bruce’s inner monologue for what felt like three hours and what was actually more like twenty minutes. At that point his phoned chimed to indicated he’d received a text. It was from Clint. It read:

_All ok. Back soon._

Bruce had let out a long breath. He would have preferred a phone call, but appreciated that Clint was on the job and that came first. Bruce asked JARVIS to inform him when Clint and the others got back, and went to the lab to check on some experiments he’d been neglecting. Clint would probably be exhausted and want to catch up on his sleep when he returned, but Bruce still wanted to check in with him.

Not long afterwards, Bruce caught up with Clint in the corridor. He looked tired, irritated and soaked through. Bruce hadn’t even realised it had been raining. He greeted the archer with a smile, unconsciously moving to kiss him, then restraining himself as a couple of other people walked by.

“Hey,” he said. “You look…”

“If the rest of that sentence is ‘like crap’, you can save it. I am well aware,” Clint replied, sounding as annoyed as he looked – it didn’t seem to be with Bruce in particular, but more at life in general.

“I was going to say tired,” Bruce insisted.

Clint sighed and kissed him. Bruce could taste the rain. It was only quick, but the fact Clint didn’t care about who could see made Bruce feel especially wanted, and sort of disappointed with himself for not making the move first.

“It’s been a long night. And day,” Clint said. “Sorry I had to cut you off. Mission wasn’t quite as accomplished as we thought. I was going to call you back but we had to clear out pretty fast.”

“Thanks for the text,” Bruce said. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“Yeah? Were you worried about me?” Clint teased, switching effortlessly into flirt-mode.

Bruce smiled. “Only a little. I knew you could handle it.”

“Hmm,” Clint said. “Good.”

“You should get out of those wet clothes, you’re soaking.”

“Is that an invitation?” Clint grinned and stepped into Bruce’s personal space.

Bruce bit his lip subconsciously but managed to refrain from blushing. He must be getting better at this, he thought. “Aren’t you tired?”

“For you, I can find the energy, believe me,” Clint countered, putting his hands on Bruce’s hips.

“I uh, I did have a great time last night,” Bruce managed to say. “The best time in a long while, actually.”

“Me too.” Clint smiled and moved in to kiss him.

Bruce slipped his own hands round Clint’s waist, but stopped when Clint flinched.

“What is it?” Bruce asked.

“Nothing, it’s nothing,” Clint breathed, moving in for a second attempt at a kiss.

Bruce put his hand on Clint’s chest to stop him. “It’s not nothing.”

Clint looked annoyed. “It’s nothing _serious_ ,” he insisted.

Bruce lifted up Clint’s shirt to reveal a sea of black, purple and green spread across his right side, dipping below his waistline. “Oh my god, Clint…”

“I’m fine,” Clint insisted again. “It looks worse than it is.”

Bruce knew they were close to his room, so he grabbed Clint’s hand and pulled him towards it to get out of the hall.

“How did this happen?” he asked when they were alone.

“I fell. Off a crane,” Clint said, seeming embarrassed. “After making a killer shot, by the way,” he added hastily.

“You’ve seen a doctor, I assume?” Bruce asked.

“It’s just bruising, no big deal,” Clint told him. “But if you’re offering your services to make me feel better, it’s actually very painful.”

“Take off your clothes, let me see.”

That seemed to stall Clint’s brain. When it caught up he obeyed the command and stripped, a willing grin on his face. “I thought you’d never ask.”

“Let me see the _injury_ ,” Bruce clarified, but Clint wasn’t far from the truth. Bruce did fully intend to examine the bruise but he should have known it was a futile goal from the start. When Clint stripped, he was already semi-hard from the precursory activities and the sight had a not dissimilar effect on Bruce. Bruce cleared his throat, trying to maintain his composure. The bruise really did look bad. Clint stood patiently still while Bruce inspected it. It was difficult to tell if there was a fracture but Clint didn’t seem in too much pain and he’d seen the doctor.

Now Clint was standing buck naked in front of him, it seemed like a wasted opportunity to tell him to get dressed again.

“You should shower,” Bruce said after a beat.

“Huh?” Clint said.

“The hot water will do you good.”

“Oh. I see you’re still enjoying this being in control thing,” Clint said sarcastically.

“It’s in the back,” Bruce said, pointing.

Clint rolled his eyes and went to pass him, but as he did he grabbed Bruce’s hand and started dragging him in the same direction. “If you’re going to play doctor, the least you can do is play it the naughty way,” Clint said with a cocksure smile.

Bruce protested (but not much) and they were soon in the bathroom. Clint had the shower running in seconds and was already pulling Bruce towards it.

“Hey, wait! I’m still dressed!” Bruce exclaimed.

“Then you better change that real quick,” Clint replied, laughing.

Bruce barely managed to take his phone out of his pocket and remove his shoes before he was dragged into the shower and both of them were getting wet. Clint kissed him and helped take off Bruce’s already soaking shirt.

He’d missed this. He’d missed Clint. His touch, his smell, his undeniable presence. It was impossible not to get caught up in it. If Bruce wasn’t careful he was going to fall hard and fast. But all such grandiose thought was soon quashed when Clint’s hands roamed down his back, lightly scratching as they went. Bruce returned the gesture, lustful need taking over.

Some awkward fumbling and laughter later, Bruce was finally caught up with Clint on the nakedness front, and both were fully hard. Bruce had never had sex in a shower before, but he definitely liked the prospect. Clint pressed himself against Bruce, squeezing his ass as he did so, their erections brushing against each other. The little noises Clint made were like music to Bruce's ears, and with every one he lost brain cells.

“Fuck me, Bruce,” Clint whispered pleadingly.

Bruce would have loved nothing more, but he’d caught sight of Clint’s injury and faltered. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he replied breathlessly. Bruce knew they both needed release so instead curled his fingers round Clint’s cock. Clint seemed more than happy with the consolation judging by the way he tensed up and caught his breath.

“Good?” Bruce asked, just to make sure.

Clint just moaned in pleasure and nodded, kissing him again, hot and heavy and deep, his hands making their way to Bruce’s own erection. Bruce’s entire body was on fire from the touch. He whimpered in Clint’s mouth before their lips broke apart. Bruce caressed Clint’s cock and Clint did the same for him, both mirroring each other’s movements and trying new ones to elicit gasps and groans of pleasure. Bruce even managed to get a few ‘ _oh, fuck, Bruce’_ s when he reached round and pushed his finger into Clint’s opening.

Bruce was fast learning the pros and cons of shower sex. It was sticky and awkward but hot as hell in more ways than one. After knocking over a few bottles, both having several turns against the wall, they finally found the sweet spot in the large (but not large enough) shower. Clint gripped the back of Bruce’s neck with one hand and with the other worked and massaged and stroked until Bruce couldn't take it anymore. His body shuddered in pleasure as he came. Not wanting to experience it alone, he quickly recovered from the orgasm and did the same for Clint, who was already teetering on the edge. He cried out when he climaxed and sagged forward. Bruce wrapped his arms around him and for a few moments they let their breath catch up.

Clint exhaled. “That’s definitely going on the list of things to try again.”

“Definitely,” Bruce agreed.

“Plus showering _while_ having sex is a real time saver.”

“I’ll remember to write that up in my notes,” Bruce replied.

Clint laughed and switched off the water. He opened the door and reached for some towels, passing one to Bruce. Bruce used it on Clint instead of himself. Clint smiled and returned the favour, ruffling it through Bruce’s hair.

“There’s a few hours till the debriefing, do you want to crash here until then?” Bruce asked, rubbing the towel over Clint’s ridiculously toned chest.

Clint seemed unsure. “Uh, I don’t know, I should probably check my weapons and get some clean clothes…”

“Stay, please?” Bruce asked. “Just for a while?”

“Yeah, okay,” Clint agreed finally.

When they’d finished drying off, Bruce gave Clint a bathrobe and dug out another one for himself. He cleared some space on the sofa, figuring it would be less ominous than the bed. If Clint was hesitant to stay in case he had another nightmare, Bruce wanted him to feel as comfortable as possible - maybe even relaxed enough to talk about it, though Bruce wasn’t hugely optimistic about that.

Bruce sat on the sofa at an angle. It was the kind of sofa you could sink into and struggle to leave. He was happy when Clint climbed onboard and nestled in, using Bruce’s chest as a pillow.

“I could sleep for a week,” Clint said.

“I’m not surprised. You should ask for some time off,” Bruce said, hoping to use the topic as a stepping-stone. “You could use a day or two just to recover.”

Clint either didn’t notice the subtle conversational hint or chose to ignore it. “I hate to break it to you, but time off doesn’t really exist when you’re with SHIELD. You just steal it where you can get it.”

“In that case we should definitely run off to the beach together, what do they call it, AWOL. Consequences be damned.”

Clint smiled broadly but didn’t open his eyes. “I’ll remember you said that.”

After a few moments Bruce decided subtlety wasn’t going to cut it, and went for the more overt approach. “Do you want to talk about it yet?”

Clint frowned. “Talk about what?”

Bruce knew Clint was well aware of what he meant, but humoured him anyway. “Your nightmares.”

Clint opened his eyes but didn’t meet Bruce’s. “There’s not much to talk about,” he said.

For a moment Bruce thought that was going to be the end of it, then Clint started talking again.

“It’s just a few nightmares,” he said. “Nightmares lead to crappy sleep, crappy sleep leads to a whole bunch of other crappy stuff. I’ll get over it.”

Bruce considered the explanation. It was plausible the trembling hands and the other symptoms he’d seen could be chalked up to simply lack of decent sleep. If that was true, why had Clint been so reluctant to talk about it?

“There are pills you can get to help you sleep better,” Bruce said. “Did you mention it to the doctor?”

“Huh?” Clint asked, momentarily confused. “Oh, right. Uh, no.”

There was something in his tone that instilled doubt.

“You did actually see a doctor about your hip, right?” Bruce asked, suddenly dubious.

Clint searched the ceiling with his gaze, as if the right answer was written up there. “Yes and no,” he said. “Mostly no.”

“Clint, you need an x-ray!” Bruce exclaimed, attempting to sit up in protest.

Clint had to do the same since he was lying partially on top of him. “I thought I needed a shower and to go to sleep!” he maintained.

Bruce finally managed to get to his feet. Damn sofa. “You lied to me,” he said, annoyed.

"I didn't lie!" Clint insisted. "Technically I just didn't answer your question."

Bruce returned the comment with his best ‘unimpressed’ look.

It must have been a good one. Clint rubbed his hands over his face. “You’re right,” he said. “I’m sorry I… misled you. I’ll go for an x-ray right now, okay?”

Bruce hadn’t expected to win the argument so quickly, but decided to take the chance while it was there. “And ask about the sleeping pills?” he added.

Clint scrunched up his nose. “I’ll think about it,” he offered.

Bruce considered the terms, wondering when this had become a negotiation. It wasn’t how he’d expected the conversation to go, but they’d made some small progress at least. “Okay, deal,” Bruce agreed. Clint needed sleep, but an x-ray was more important. “You can borrow something dry to wear if you want,” he added upon seeing Clint’s wet clothes strewn over the floor. “Although I can’t really picture you in slacks.”

Clint laughed and stood up. “You’re so cute when you care,” he said, laying a kiss on him and slipping his hand underneath Bruce’s robe.

“I must be pretty cute then,” Bruce replied, then pulled away. “X-ray, now. You don’t want me to get angry, do you?” he said, only half-joking.

Clint backed away, grinning and holding his hands up in defeat.

 

End of Chapter Six

 


	7. Over My Head

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Told you it was going to be long! Don't say I didn't warn you! I rewrote this chapter late last night so apologies if there are typos (though I won't top Nose God in the last chapter, ahem)

Two hours after Clint had left to get an x-ray, Bruce decided to give him a call. He’d expected to have heard something by now. The possibility he might be upset entered Bruce’s mind, but he dismissed it. Clint had left smiling, despite the push to go and take care of himself.

There was no answer on the cell, but that didn’t mean anything. Clint could still have been indisposed, talking to doctors and whatnot.

“JARVIS? Is Agent Barton back yet?” Bruce asked.

“Unknown,” the computer replied.

Bruce thought it was kind of an odd response. “Unknown? Is he in the building or isn’t he?”

“He is, Doctor Banner,” JARVIS replied.

“But you don’t know where he is?”

“His last known location was sub-level two.”

Bruce had forgotten Stark Tower even had sub-levels. He’d taken the tour when he first moved in. The Arc Reactor powering the building was utterly fascinating. The whole building was a wonder. Self-powered, its own water and air purifying systems, architecturally astounding, everything you’d expect from a building Tony Stark built. “What’s he doing down there?” Bruce asked. Unless he’d been given some strange errand to run, there was no reason for Clint to be down there.

“Unknown, Sir,” came the succinct reply.

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

Bruce made the decision to head down to the sub-levels to try and find Clint, wondering all the way what he was doing down there. The notion that he was hiding to avoid seeing a doctor entered Bruce’s mind, and he felt bad for that. Did he really trust Clint that little? After Clint lied – or misled, as he put it – Bruce had some reason to doubt. But hiding in the sub-levels for two hours was ridiculous. No, it can’t have been that.

Bruce reached the lobby and headed for the elevators. They were separate from the main ones, tucked away behind a stylish partition that stretched up to the ceiling. He didn’t make it. Clint was already in the lobby but hadn’t seen him yet. He looked strange. His eyes were darting around at the other people coming and going, like he was trying to figure something out.

“Clint?” Bruce called.

Clint took a moment to find him among the crowd, but he didn’t react with any guilt or surprise. In fact, his expression didn’t change much. His face was full of worry and confusion. Bruce was sure he was mirroring it now.

“Are you okay?” Bruce asked when he was close enough. “Did you go and see the doctor?”

“Huh? No, I don’t… what time is it?” Clint didn’t look like he was listening very intently. There seemed to be panic in his eyes.

“It’s just gone midday,” Bruce replied. It wasn’t a terribly strange question on its own – Clint had had a ridiculously long couple of days, it wasn’t surprising that his internal clock was off - but when coupled with his the way he was shifting and the fear on his face, it was cause for concern.

“Midday?” he repeated, looking horrified at the answer.

“What is it? Did something happen? JARVIS said you were in the sub-levels.”

Clint looked at him finally. “He what?”

Bruce felt momentarily guilty for checking up on him. “He said he lost track of you on sub-level 2, I think. What’s going on?”

“I don’t know… I don’t…” Clint trailed off, clearly struggling with whatever he was trying to say.

“Talk to me,” Bruce encouraged. “What happened?”

Clint lowered his voice. “I don’t know what happened. I don’t remember.”

It didn’t seem like a sidestep, it a genuine admission. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I remember leaving your place then… then I don’t know. Nothing. I was here,” Clint told him, keeping his voice quiet. He was far from the confident, flirtatious man Bruce had kissed on the roof, who had taken him to bed without trepidation.

Bruce was having trouble letting the implications sink in. “Are you saying you blacked out?” he asked slowly.

Clint took a moment before giving the slightest of nods, like even the admission was almost physically painful.

Bruce’s heart fell. He desperately needed Clint to tell him he was just messing around, that is was some bizarre joke. But Clint’s own desperation was plainly visible in his eyes.

“We’ve got to get you checked out,” Bruce said. “We can go to the SHIELD medical facility, get them to -”

“What? No!” Clint interrupted in panic. “I have to figure out what the hell’s going on.”

“Clint, this is serious. You could have a, a head injury or-”

“Or what?” Clint said bitingly, daring him to continue.

Bruce considered listing the symptoms, voicing the diagnosis that was screaming at him, but he didn’t. He’d attended medical school for a short time, but he was by no means an expert. He couldn’t bring himself to say it. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “But this isn’t just nightmares and sleep deprivation. You can’t ignore this anymore.”

Clint looked as if he wanted to escape his own skin.

“I care about you,” Bruce said. He needed Clint to know it. “You don’t have to handle this on your own. You need help.”

“Then help me,” Clint asked. “Just you. I don’t want Fury or anyone else to know.”

“Clint…” Bruce went to argue but Clint stopped him.

“Not yet, okay? Please? Just give me some time to figure out what’s going on. I’ll see Fury, the doctor, anything, just give me some time first, please.”

If the past few days had taught him anything, it was that Bruce found it very difficult to say no to Clint Barton. “The rest of the day. That’s it,” he compromised. “If you don’t tell anyone by then, I will.”

Clint’s whole body seemed to relax a little. “Okay,” he agreed.

Bruce took his hand, not caring who could see. Gossip was not exactly high on his list of priorities. “Where do we start?”

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

Clint had never been so afraid. He was falling apart, and the mental glue he’d been using to hold himself together wasn’t doing the trick anymore. It was like being undone all over again. He had to keep it together for a little while longer at least. Bruce had given him some time to figure things out, and he had to use it wisely. Clint didn’t know what he’d done to deserve Bruce. He definitely hadn’t expected the reaction he got to the ‘big reveal’. _Surprise, I’m going insane._ _Want to stick around and watch it happen, maybe?_ And Bruce had said yes. Well how about that. If Bruce wanted to help, maybe the others would too. But Bruce wasn’t SHIELD. It was Fury’s reaction Clint feared most. If Fury couldn’t trust him, he’d never be allowed back in the field. Agents who had blackouts certainly weren’t agents you could trust.

Blackouts. Sure, why the hell not? As if nightmares and hallucinations and all the other mind-fuckery wasn’t enough. Blackouts, just to _really_ make things interesting.

He’d ‘woken up’ in the lobby like he’d told Bruce. It was like his life was a movie, and whoever was holding the remote had just skipped a scene or five. It was the weirdest fucking thing he’d ever experienced, and he’d experienced plenty of weird. Clint wasn’t sure what he’d have done if he hadn’t run into Bruce. Would he have swept the incident under the proverbial rug? Clint doubted he could carry on with that particular plan of non-action. Things were coming to a head - Bruce had surmised as much, and he only knew half of it. He might have rethought his decision to stick around if he knew about the hallucinations or that emotional gut punch he felt when Thor had shown up.

Bruce had agreed to try and get a log of Clint’s movements from JARVIS, preferably without alerting anyone else, while Clint took care of something. He’d argued at first, wanting them to stay together, but this was something Clint needed to do alone.

Doctor Marlowe was clearing out her office when Clint arrived. Clint knew Fury would lose his shit if he knew about the visit, but he was pretty sure it would soon be low on the Director’s list of concerns anyway.

Clint cleared his throat to let the doctor know he was there. She reacted as he’d feared, dropping the pencil pot she was holding and physically baulking at the sight of him. Clint held out his hands to show he meant no harm.

“Hey, it’s alright. I’m not gonna hurt you,” he said, keeping his distance. “I don’t have any weapons.”

Marlowe was scanning the desk in front of her, probably looking for one of her own. “You’re a SHIELD agent, you don’t need a weapon,” she said.

She had him there. “Okay, good point,” he said. “But I won’t hurt you. You’ll just have to take my word for it.”

“What do you want?” Marlowe asked.

“I have to know something.” Clint took a deep breath. He _had_ to know, but he wasn’t exactly sure he wanted to. “Nata… Agent Romanoff told me about Jason Morris. About what happened,” he began.

Marlowe’s eyes filled with grief.

“I’m sorry,” Clint said. He meant it, but it didn’t seem like enough. He’d killed her lover. There wasn’t anything that would be enough.

“ _Loki_ killed the man I loved,” Marlowe said, spitting out Loki’s name like it tasted vile. “I don’t blame you. I never did. Agent Romanoff was wrong about that.”

While it brought him some respite, Clint didn’t like where this was going.  “So when you said I threatened you…”

“Why are you still playing that game?” Marlowe snapped, her emotions getting the better of her. “You already got me suspended, you can stop pretending. We both know what happened.”

Clint didn’t speak.

Marlowe stopped and studied him. “Or am I wrong?” she asked. Slowly the penny dropped. Realisation, coupled with fear, spread across her face. “You don’t remember, do you?”

Clint stared back with dread in his eyes. “Tell me… tell me what happened.”

Marlowe was still wary, but her professional instincts seemed to kick in. She was concerned even though she was still afraid. “It was like you were a different person,” she said. “Like you suddenly changed into someone else. You closed your eyes and… you said you were going to rip my heart out.”

Her voice trembled. That and the pause made Clint think she was editing the threat, sugarcoating even.

“Then it was like,” Marlowe sighed, proverbially kicking herself, “god, it was like you were pretending it didn’t just happen. But you weren’t pretending, were you? You don’t remember. You blacked out.”

Clint’s fear had come to pass. The trip to the sub-levels wasn’t his first black out. And if there had been another, who was to say there weren’t more? How many times had he not remembered going to bed? ‘Waking up’ in front of the bathroom mirror, god, how could he have been so blind? Clint tried desperately to remember everything that had happened over the past few days, but his mind was so cloudy, god he was so _tired_ , and now he knew it wasn’t just because of those damned nightmares. Clint had to lean against the back wall for support.

_Undone all over again._

“Agent Barton, I’m so sorry,” Marlowe said. “I should have made more of a case with Fury, I should have seen it.”

“Don’t,” Clint said. “I’ll… you’ll get your job back. I’m going to tell Fury everything.”

“Why don’t you come with me to the medical facility right now?” Marlowe said cautiously. “I can call the Director to meet us there.”

“No, don’t do that,” Clint snapped unintentionally.

Marlowe flinched.

“Don’t do anything,” Clint said. “I’ll handle it.” He didn’t give the Doctor a chance to argue. He left, wanting to get as much distance between them as possible, wishing he could distance himself from it all.

On the way back to find Bruce, Clint’s mind was raging. If he could walk and talk during these blackouts, what had he been doing? Where had he been? How many times had it happened that he didn’t know about? It was impossible trying to remember, his head was bursting with questions he did and didn’t want to know the answers to.

Clint found Bruce in his lab. He’d entertained the idea that Bruce would have called Fury and a security team would be waiting, but the scientist was true to his word – alone and working to help him.

“I was getting worried,” Bruce said when he saw him.

“Sorry. Have you found anything?” Clint asked, avoiding further discussion about his ‘errand’. He didn’t want to tell him about Marlowe. It wouldn’t achieve anything.

Bruce’s expression didn’t give him much hope on the answers front. “Not really,” he replied. “JARVIS doesn’t seem to have much record of your movements at all. I can’t seem to get him to tell me why. It’s like someone’s…”

“Tampered with his security protocols?” Clint finished. The thought hit him while Bruce was speaking, a sense of dread falling over him.

It seemed to enshroud Bruce as well. “Is that something you know how to do?” he asked carefully, apparently having the same thought.

“Yeah,” Clint admitted. “I also know how to disable the security protocols on a safety door.” _And rig an experiment to deliver a fatal shock._

They’d had training in Stark tech before Tony had joined the Avengers. Both he and Natasha had intel on how Stark’s systems worked, they’d practiced breaching his security ( _just in case_ , Fury insisted). Clint knew if he put his mind to it, he could find a way to circumnavigate security measures. If Clint put his mind to it, he could find a way to do a whole lot more. With his skillset and Loki’s influence…

A sober silence fell over the lab until it was interrupted by the comms. It was Agent Hill. “Attention Avengers, the briefing with Director Fury is about to start on floor eighty-eight. Please make your way there immediately.”

“Tony’s planning on presenting his conspiracy theory at this thing,” Bruce said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I spent some time with him on it. I thought he was paranoid at first, god we all did, but…”

“But it’s not paranoia if someone’s really trying to kill you,” Clint finished again.

This couldn’t be happening.

“We don’t know it was you for sure though, right?” Bruce said, sounding like he was trying to convince himself as much as anyone. “Plus, there are a lot of things that don’t make sense. For starters, why Tony? And if it was an attempt on his life, why hasn’t there been another one? He’s still alive, there’s been plenty of opportunity in the past few days to -”

“I know. I mean, god, I don’t know,” Clint said, stopping Bruce’s thought train. The only thing Clint could be sure of was that he didn’t know what the hell was going on anymore. It was within his skillset and Tony had said he thought it was an inside job. But Bruce was right, there were things that didn’t make sense. Why try to kill Tony? Why such a sloppy and inefficient assassination method?

“Fuck, I don’t know what the hell’s going on anymore,” Clint said again. It felt like it beared repeating.

“We can’t sit on this until the end of the day,” Bruce said after a moment of tense silence.

Clint was way ahead of him. He nodded. “Fury will already be at the briefing. I’ll tell him everything.”

Finally making the decision actually made him feel a little calmer. Things had escalated to a point where he could no longer push everything out of his head and pretend it wasn’t happening. Losing himself in Bruce wasn’t an option anymore. He had to tell Fury and accept the consequences. It was too dangerous not to.

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

If you took away the whole going insane thing, it might have been funny watching people’s reactions as Clint and Bruce walked into the briefing together - Clint had lost track of who knew about them. But nothing was particularly funny now, especially the fact that Fury was nowhere to be seen.

Everyone else was there. The tables were arranged in a horseshoe shape as usual.

Clint’s eyes drifted inevitably towards Thor. He was talking to Steve in the two seats at the end of the tables. Clint felt his chest tighten with the rise of vile foreign emotions at the sight of the god. He forced himself to look away, walking past Tony (awkward) and heading for Natasha. She was sat two seats from Stark at the other end of the tables, looking bored.

“Where’s Fury?” Clint asked, trying to sound calm.

“He was here but he had to take a call. Sounded urgent but you know Fury, everything’s urgent,” Natasha replied, eyeing him curiously. “Are you going to tell me what happened last night or am I going to have to beat it out of you?”

Clint didn’t reply, instead shifting nervously on his feet. He hadn’t anticipated Fury not being there. He felt Bruce’s hand on his arm.

“I’ll see if I can find him,” Bruce said, and left.

Natasha watched him go. “What’s that about?” she pressed.

“Nothing,” Clint said like it was a reflex. He knew he owed her an explanation and probably an apology too. She was his best friend. She’d offered an ear back before things spiralled. Clint wished he’d taken her up on the offer back then before things had come this far. There were a lot of things Clint wished he’d done differently. But she’d know soon enough and he was too gutless to tell her himself. Far better someone else explain and then maybe he wouldn’t have to see her disappointment, her betrayal at the secrets he’d been keeping from her.

Natasha very nearly pouted in annoyance at the answer. She folded her arms and went back to waiting patiently for the briefing to start.

Clint was about to follow Bruce out to look for Fury himself but something stopped him.

“Has Loki said anything?” Steve asked.

The name seemed to trigger something inside Clint’s head and he found himself rooted to the spot.

“My brother has not spoken since the day we returned to Asgard,” Thor said solemnly. “I endeavour every day to change that.”

 _God, how pathetic,_ Clint thought, hatred spilling over from a trough inside his head. Clint closed his eyes and tried to shake the thought away. It wasn’t his.

“Loki’s trial will commence soon. We are not used to such things on Asgard, but my father has made it so,” Thor said. “If Loki will not speak, there is nothing I can do for him. It will be short. He will pay for his crimes.”

 _Shut up, shut up, shup up…_ Clint gripped the back of the seat he was standing behind. He should leave. He needed to, to get away from Thor, but he couldn’t.

“Wait, you mean you’d still defend him if he’d talk to you?” Tony asked, unaware of the volatile situation developing. “That’s pretty needy, big guy.”

Thor didn’t miss a beat. “He is still my brother.”

Clint was losing his grip on the control he was clinging to. He felt the same rage and heartbreak, the same wicked hate that he’d felt when Thor had first arrived back only it was getting worse.

“He’s a psychopath and a murderer,” Tony retorted. “I’m sorry, Thor, but there are some things you can’t forgive. What does the guy have to do? Chop your leg off?”

“Stark, shut up,” Steve said.

Tony, of course, ignored him. “Would your father forgive him?”

He needed to get out, he needed to leave _right now_.

It was the last thought Clint knew was his. He could feel himself succumbing to his… no, to _Loki’s_ emotions. They were so consuming, even the mention of Odin almost made Clint lose it completely.

“I do not… I do not know if that in his power,” Thor said gravely. “He has not spoken to Loki since our return. But I know he still feels love for him.”

Clint didn’t know what happened next.

His head was pounding, god, it was _pounding._ The atmosphere in the room had suddenly changed. He couldn’t see - the pain inside his skull was blurring his vision. He could hear someone groaning in pain - it sounded like Tony – and Natasha’s breath, heavy for some reason. Clint’s tried to shake his eyes into focus but he felt dizzy and completely disorientated. His _head…_

“Agent Barton,” someone said. Fury. Being calm. That was wrong somehow. “Why don’t you put down the gun?”

Clint didn’t move. He heard the words but didn’t quite understand them. Where had Fury come from anyway?

“Agent Barton!” Fury shouted. That was more like it.

 _Gun_. Clint’s training finally kicked in and he knew he had to clear his head. Someone had a gun in the room. He snapped his gaze in the direction of Fury’s voice. It made his head spin and nausea rise up inside him, but his sight was returning. Fury was in the doorway. Bruce was standing next to him.

“Clint, put down the gun,” Bruce said.

They were looking at him. Bruce's face was white with shock but Clint didn’t understand. As his vision got clearer, he realised for the first time that he could feel the weight of a pistol in his hand. He traced his gaze down his own arm to the weapon. It wasn’t his own. He followed the barrel across the room with his eyes.

It was aimed at Thor’s head.

Thor had him locked in a stare, poised to react if necessary. Clint looked around the room for some kind of further explanation. He didn’t like what he saw. Tony with blood on his hands, Bruce’s horror, Cap’s calming hands, Fury’s death glare and Natasha’s gun… they were all aimed at Clint.

He felt like if he moved, everything would change again. The room was already starting to blur. His head pounded, pounded, pounded.

“Tash?” he managed to say.

“Put the gun on the table,” she said. She was standing up now, gun aimed at his chest. “You’re okay.” A purple stain was creeping over her forehead.

“He broke my nose!” Tony said, spitting blood as he spoke. “He’s not okay, that’s not something okay people do!”

“Quiet, Tony,” Steve said. “Just keep calm, everyone keep calm.”

Clint knew he couldn’t stay in his suspended animation for long. He finally managed to regain some control of his body and slowly put the gun on the table.

“I think we better have a talk, Barton,” Fury said. “Apparently we have some catching up to do.”

Natasha picked up the gun, keeping the second one trained on her target.

Clint felt a warmth crawl from his nose and reach his lip. He wiped blood away with the back of his hand. Through his bloodied fingers he had never seen Bruce look so scared. It was the last thing Clint saw before the world faded to black.

 

End of Chapter Seven

 


	8. The Closest Thing to Crazy

Fury had just finished talking to someone on his comm. device when Bruce found him not far from the briefing room. He looked pissed, more so than usual.

“Director, Clint needs to talk you before the briefing,” Bruce told him, withholding the details. “It’s urgent,” he hastened to add.

“What a coincidence,” Fury said without pause. Bruce was pretty sure he was gritting his teeth. Had he heard something already?

The Director started purposefully back to Clint and the others, making another call before Bruce had the chance to say anything else.

“Get a security team to the 88th floor of Stark Tower, right goddamn now.”

 _That answers that question,_ Bruce thought. Somehow Fury had discovered Clint’s secret.

“What’s going on?” Bruce asked, not trying to sound innocent but not giving anything away either. He didn’t like the sound of the security team, but it was an obvious reaction. Clint was compromised and potentially dangerous. Bruce hadn’t witnessed it for himself, but if he had set up the experiment in Tony’s lab, it enough to warrant caution at least.

Fury stopped short of entering the room again and turned.

“Dr. Banner, this isn’t going to be pretty,” he said. “I don’t know how much you’re aware of so I’m going to be nice.” Fury spoke the next words very clearly. “Distance yourself from this.”

Bruce heard but didn’t listen. He wasn’t going to abandon Clint, not now. He followed the Director back into the room, just in time to see Clint change into someone else.

Bruce knew Clint was a trained SHIELD operative; one of Director Fury’s top agents. He knew Clint was well-versed in armed and unarmed combat, that he was trained to kill people. He knew all of this but he was still completely unprepared for the highly-tuned outburst of violence he had arrived to witness.

It was over in a matter of seconds.

Whatever the trigger was, Bruce didn’t see it. But Clint was stood still when he suddenly burst into life. He kicked Natasha’s chair from underneath her, stealing the gun she had stashed on her hip while she went down. She caught her head on the table with an awful crack.

Tony made the mistake of trying to get up. Clint slammed his head into the table for the effort. Natasha recovered quickly, only milliseconds behind Clint in drawing her secondary weapon. Clint had already cocked the gun and aimed it at Thor.

Fury drew his own weapon. Steve was on his feet almost immediately. Blood streamed from Tony’s nose. It was like watching a horrific, violent ballet.

Silence fell when they each saw it. Clint’s eyes were unnaturally blue - the same blue the brainwashed agents had been when Loki had them under his spell. Bruce felt like someone had torn the breath from his body. The surreal nature of what he had just seen was the only thing keeping the Hulk from rearing his ugly head.

For what felt like minutes but was probably only moments, nobody moved.  Clint must have been fighting whatever was going on inside his head, because he hadn’t fired the weapon yet. He blinked several times, trying to shake it off. It must have worked, because his eyes eventually returned to their natural colour. Clint was clearly disorientated, though. Bruce knew he wouldn’t remember what just happened, that this must be the root of the blackouts.

“Agent Barton,” Fury said. “Why don’t you put down the gun?”

Clint didn’t respond at all until Fury repeated the order in a more authoritative voice. Even then Clint simply stared, clearly trying to comprehend what was happening.

“Clint, put down the gun,” Bruce tried.

It took a long time for Clint to finally react and slowly obey, setting the gun on the table. After that Bruce could only stare in continued horror as Clint’s nose started to bleed and he swayed before passing out. Natasha caught him before he hit the floor.

One nightmare after another.

“Agent Romanoff,” Fury barked, “liase with Agent Hill. Recall every agent and civilian who was under Loki’s spell. Get them into custody and on lockdown, _now_.”

Natasha didn’t look as if she’d heard. She was checking Clint’s eyes. Bruce was numb, still standing in the doorway, dumbfounded.

“ _Agent Romanoff_ ,” Fury repeated. “We will secure Agent Barton. Go, now.”

Natasha didn’t look happy about it, but she carefully laid Clint’s head on the floor and took her leave.

“I do not understand,” Thor said, confusion and concern in his voice. He was on his feet now. “Loki’s control should have long since faded.”

“My nose says otherwise,” Tony replied, undecided between tilting his head forward and back to stem the bleeding. “Shouldn’t you be _securing_ him?” he directed at Steve.

Fury nodded at Steve before activating his communicator. “This is Fury. I need a medical evac at Stark Tower as well as the security team I ordered a damn ice age ago.”

 _“Right away, Sir,”_ came the reply.

Steve and Thor pulled Clint to his feet. He was still unconscious, a trickle of blood coming from his nose. He looked like death. _Poor choice of words._

“Is he okay?” Bruce said, finally regaining the ability to speak.

“Are you, Doctor?” Fury asked pertinently.

“Oh. Yes, I… I’m fine,” Bruce replied, still in shock. “Where are you taking him?” Bruce stood taller, reacting to the urge to protect Clint.

“We’ll head to a nearby SHIELD facility. There we can keep him and everyone else safe,” Fury told him, as calmly as could manage. “I think it’s best you stay back in case he wakes up for a second act,” he added when Bruce tried to move towards Steve and Thor, who dwarfed Clint either side of him.

“I’m not leaving him,” Bruce said, ready to argue if anyone dared to try.

“Fine. We’ll meet the ambulance convoy on street level. Captain, Thor, take the lead. We’re moving out.”

Fury gave some orders over the comm. to clear their path to the ground floor, and cordon off the street.

“What exactly do you know about this, Doctor?” Fury asked, tailing Steve, Thor and their charge.

Bruce supposed he would have to do the talking now Clint couldn’t. It took him a moment to even find the words. “He… he’s been having blackouts.”

“What?” Tony exclaimed from just behind them. “And you didn’t think that was worth mentioning?”

“I only found out today,” Bruce said in his defence. “He was going to tell you before the briefing.”

Fury seemed to believe him.

“Well, that worked out just great, good job there,” Tony said, clearly having not lost his powers of sarcasm during the attack.

“There’s a car waiting for you downstairs. You and Doctor Banner can follow behind us to the facility,” Fury said to placate him. “Our medical staff can look at your nose.”

Tony rolled his eyes but didn’t complain any further.

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

Thor and Steve carried Clint down to street level where a convoy was waiting complete with a SHIELD ambulance. Bruce watched in dismay as they lay Clint’s limp unmoving body onto a stretcher and secured restraints around his wrists and ankles. Nothing seemed real. Yesterday had been full of promise. How had things gone so wrong so quickly?

“Hey, come on Doc. It’s for his own good,” Tony said in a rare moment of sincerity. He was holding a bunch of tissues to his nose, blood covering his ageing AC/DC t-shirt. Dozens of onlookers were snapping pictures and filming the commotion, despite the efforts of the SHIELD agents trying to keep them back. Lord knows what they thought was going on. No doubt rampant speculation would plaster the headlines soon enough.

Happy was waiting in a limo to follow behind the convoy. He and Tony exchanged a few brief words before Happy got in the driver’s seat. Tony and Bruce climbed in the back, the city sounds and nearby cacophony of excited gossip dulled as soon as the doors closed.

“Never any danger of a dull day around here, huh?” Tony said, then seemed to realise Bruce wasn’t very responsive. “I’m sure Barton’s gonna be fine. He’s… scrappy. He’ll bounce back.”

Bruce was mildly amused at his choice of words but his platitudes fell flat. “You should probably call Pepper, let her know what’s going on,” he said distantly. “Before she sees it on the news.”

“You’re probably right.” Tony got his phone out and dialled, but kept an eye on Bruce.

Clint wasn’t fine. The signs had been there, Bruce had seen them. If he’d said something sooner, made Clint confront what was happening, maybe it wouldn’t have gone this far. It was of little consequence now. Bruce had no idea how they were going to help Clint. If it had been a case of post-traumatic stress, it could be treated over time but magic? _Loki’s magic_? How were they supposed to find a cure for that? Clint had been a victim of Loki’s spell before, and come back from it. It simply faded from the other victims. How had it taken Clint again? When Bruce had seen those icy blue eyes it was like the room turned colder.

A shiver ran down Bruce’s spine.

Tony finished his quickfire argument with Pepper over the phone and he tossed it onto the seat beside him. “She’s in Bermuda at a conference or something,” he muttered. “I probably should have known that.” Tony started gingerly pressing the skin around his nose and wincing.

“I would have thought you’d want a private doctor or something,” Bruce said, feeling like he needed to talk and not think.

“Well, you know. I don’t want to miss Barton’s apology. He’s gonna owe me big for this,” Tony replied, trying to sound offhand.

Bruce smiled a little. He knew Tony wanted to stay with the team. It was a little early to call the Avengers a family, but the same kind of dynamic was already starting to build. They’d staved off two alien invasions together; that was a pretty unique bonding experience. Bruce was thrilled to be a part of it, but he’d forgotten what that meant - moments like this. Worrying sick about someone he cared about. And god help him, he really did care about Clint. More than he had ever expected to. It was driving him crazy not knowing what was going to happen.

Tony must have picked up on his inner anguish. “You’re not going to go green on me, are you?” he said. “It might be fun but Happy’s kind of attached to this limo. I think he’s named it.”

“It’s- he’s under control,” Bruce assured.

“You think it was Barton who tried to kill me?” Tony asked, apparently without thinking. “Sorry,” he said immediately after. “Topic for later.”

Thankfully it wasn’t long before the limo had followed the other vehicles into an underground car park ( _how cliché,_ Tony quipped) and through the lesser-travelled route to the SHIELD facility. Medical personnel had already whisked Clint away by the time Bruce and Tony arrived. Bruce wanted to follow but he was gently dissuaded. He found himself guiltily wishing they were more afraid of him. Instead he stayed with Tony while he got his nose looked at. It was indeed broken. Once he’d been cleaned and patched up, he looked marginally better. He refused to take off his bloodied t-shirt in favour of a flimsy hospital gown, instead calling someone (Happy, Bruce guessed) to bring him some new clothes.

They found Steve and Thor in one of the waiting areas.

“What’s the word on Legolas?” Tony asked, making himself comfortable in the one of the chairs.

“Nothing yet,” Steve replied. “They’re still in with him.”

“It was strange,” Thor said. “Clint Barton seemed angry at the mention of my father.”

Bruce did seem to remember hearing something about Odin when he’d entered the room. Come to think of it, Clint had acted strangely around Thor before…

“You did seem to trigger him,” Steve agreed. “A leftover effect of Loki’s spell?”

“I do science, not magic,” Tony replied. “It’s weird though. I mean, when everybody was brain-slugged before, they were more T-1000 deadpan than angry teenager,” Tony said. “Why the rage blackout this time round?”

Steve seemed to have given up asking what Tony’s references meant but he seemed to get the gist. “Once Natasha and Hill round up the others who were affected we can get a better picture of what’s going on.”

 _And once someone comes and tells them what the hell’s going on with Clint,_ Bruce thought. It had been too long with no-one updating them. The others seemed fine with waiting but Bruce was getting antsy. What was going on in there? Was Clint fighting for his life? His nose had bled, and not for the first time, Bruce remembered. His mind started running down different, awful roads. Had Clint slipped into a coma? Had a brain haemorrhage? Was he dead and they just weren’t telling him? It was a guaranteed hulkout; were they preparing a containment team for him as they sat there?

“Bruce, are you okay?” Steve asked.

Bruce realised he was wringing his hands and stopped when all eyes were suddenly on him.

“Yeah. M’good,” Bruce replied curtly. He knew when people asked him if he was okay they usually meant _are you going to hulk out and kill everyone?_ He was used to it. The truth was, Bruce was borderline. Anything other than good news was in danger of setting him off. He closed his eyes, trying to regain his grip on control. The first step in his meditative process was shutting out the environment and keeping still. That was the easy part. The hard part was shutting out the thoughts that were causing his control to slip. Not even twenty-four hours ago Bruce was at the other end of this emotional scale, worried about being so happy, so excited that he couldn’t contain the Other Guy. What a difference a day made.

“I’m gonna find somebody to get us some answers,” Tony declared, breaking the tense silence.

Bruce opened his eyes, the Hulk on hold for a little while longer at least. He guessed Tony’s gesture was on his behalf and he appreciated it. As it turned out, he didn’t need to go far. A doctor was already approaching them, a short fair-haired man in his thirties. He walked with purpose but his expression gave nothing away.

“I’m Doctor Singer,” he said, stopping between Tony and Steve. “Director Fury asked me to update you on Agent Barton.”

“Is he okay? Is he awake?” Bruce asked, practically leaping to his feet.

“Barton is still unconscious but his vitals are all good,” the doctor said to what had to be an intimidating crowd. “We don’t know when, but we’re confident he’ll regain consciousness, hopefully soon.”

“Why’d he pass out?” Steve asked.

Bruce was surprised Singer didn’t strain his neck looking up at him.

“His heart rate and blood pressure were elevated when he came in but from what Director Fury told us we’re obviously more concerned with his head. Physically as well as mentally,” Singer explained. “We’re taking him for an MRI in a moment. We’ll know more as soon as-”

“I want to see him,” Bruce stated matter-of-factly. All eyes were on him once more. Bruce didn’t care. The thought of Clint waking up in a strange place, not remembering what happened, _restrained_ , was too much for Bruce to bear. He’s been through it enough times to know how terrifying it was. He wanted to be there when Clint woke up. He _needed_ to be there.

“The scan takes around a half hour,” Singer began mistaking Bruce’s demand for a request. “He’ll be able to have visitors after the-”

Bruce altered his tone so as to not be misunderstood again. “I want to see him _now_ ,” he repeated.

Singer suddenly remembered whom he was standing in front of. He started to stammer.  “W… only medical staff are allowed-”

“Look, I’m giving you a choice,” Bruce said slowly and clearly. “The Other Guy won’t be as courteous.” He stepped forward, spurring a different reaction from everyone. Steve unfolded his arms, ready for a ‘situation’. Thor seemed intrigued by the tension that had arisen, and was carefully studying the younger doctor for his reaction – which was quite sensibly: fear – and Tony… well Tony looked oddly proud.

“I’m sure there’s room for one more,” Singer stuttered out. “This way.”

Bruce took a moment to calm himself before he followed.

“That was worryingly arousing,” Tony said, never one for keeping thoughts in his head.

Thor actually laughed a little. “Good work my friend!” he exclaimed, but thinking better of slapping Bruce on the back. “Though I fear I have missed much in my absence. Your manner suggests a closer bond than I have had the pleasure of building with Clint Barton. I hope to remedy this.”

“Uh, I don’t think you’ll be building _quite_ the same bond as those two, buddy,” Tony said, amused.

“Do you need an _escort_ , Dr. Banner?” Steve asked, clearly not as impressed by Bruce’s threatening behaviour as the others.

Truthfully, Bruce wasn’t impressed with himself either. It was a low move but one that needed to be made. “No. I’m okay. I just want to be there when he wakes up,” Bruce told him. If it’s gets to much I’ll tell them to hit the panic button, I promise.”

The truth seemed to soothe the Captain’s worries, and he nodded. Bruce started down the corridor after the doctor, leaving Tony to no doubt fill Thor in on the finer details of what he’d missed while he’d been away.

The scan was already underway when Bruce and Dr. Singer arrived in the room adjoining one where the scanner resided. Bruce had a habit of mentally noting the things that filled the rooms he entered - what they were, how much they must have cost, how they’d break - he decided quickly this was definitely not a room he should go green in. A technician sat at the desk, watching results appear on various monitors. Fury towered over him, arms folded. He eyeballed Bruce and Singer in succession but said nothing.

Bruce looked through the glass at Clint, who at some stage had been garbed in a pale hospital gown. His hands and wrists were secured with non-metallic restraints. He looked so small, the huge white CT machine engulfing his form. It was like a scene from a science-fiction movie. Funny, he hadn’t thought that about the aliens, or the man with a mini generator in his chest he’d just been talking to. No, _this_ was alien; seeing Clint so still and small, so devoid of life.

“This is… not good,” the technician said, snapping Bruce out of his daze.

Bruce looked at the monitors, which showed black and grey cross sections of Clint’s brain. Bruce had seen this kind of scan before. He’d seen his own results and other people’s. He knew what an average one looked like, and he knew Clint’s was far from it. What he could only describe as an electric blue mist shaded parts of the dissection.

“How does it compare with previous scans?” Fury asked.

Bruce inferred the ‘previous scans’ were after Clint had been de-Lokied on the Hellcarrier.

“After the head trauma that initially knocked the spell into submission there were traces similar to this blue area. But they disappeared. The last scan showed he was completely clear, nothing like this.”

“Find the last scan, make sure nothing was missed,” Fury ordered. “Check every one of Loki’s victims.”

Bruce knew what Fury was worried about. If they couldn’t detect Loki’s magic, there was no way of telling who still carried it. Dozens of Loki’s brainwashed victims could still be under his influence, even though the God of Mischief was literally worlds away. The implications were more widespread than just Clint, but Bruce would have to let someone else worry about them. Clint was all he could think about.

They watched as each section of Clint’s brain appeared in succession, until the images became oddly blurred.

Then Bruce noticed Clint’s fingers were twitching.

“He’s waking up.”

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

Blinding light infiltrated his eyelids, a red glow filling his vision. For a brief moment Clint thought he might have died. Then the light went away. A mechanical noise accompanied it. His head was full of static, no single thought getting through the noise. What was this?

His arms tried to move but were hindered. His legs too. Any chance of sense and reason returning was quashed. Panic rose instead. He was trapped.

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

“Stop the scan. Get a security team in here,” Fury barked at Singer.

Singer left the room in a hurry.

“It’ll just take a few seconds,” the technician said, working at the controls.

Through the glass it was clear Clint was becoming more aware, and more distressed as his senses returned. When he tried to move his hands and found he couldn’t, he began to struggle against his restraints. Steady beeps Bruce hadn’t even noticed became faster and more urgent.

“You’ve got a mic that broadcasts in there, right?” Bruce asked.

“Uh, yeah,” the technician said, pushing a microphone towards him.

“Clint? It’s Bruce, I’m just outside the room,” he said, figuring Clint would calm down if he heard a familiar voice. “You’re okay, you don’t have to struggle. You’re safe.”

Clint’s frantic movements did seem to calm, but his chest still rose and fell in panic. “Bruce? What the hell’s going on?”

“Calm down, Agent. You’re in a scanning machine at SHIELD medical,” Fury said before Bruce could.

“Sir?” Clint said breathlessly. “Oh shit.”

Fury actually smirked a little. Bruce felt like he should take a Polaroid for proof. “I think it’s safe to say he’s back to normal for now.”

“Scan’s shut down, it’s safe to go in,” the technician said.

“Dr. Banner, I have a wider situation to attend to. Why don’t you fill Agent Barton in on the situation,” Fury suggested. “And why he has to remain in restraints for the time being,” he added as a diplomatic warning.

“Thank-you,” Bruce said, not sure which kindness he was thanking him for exactly - for not kicking him out of the room, for not putting Clint straight into a padded cell or treating him like a monster. Not yet at least. The echoes of his own situation were not lost on Bruce.

“Security will be on standby. I’ll have a few questions for both of you later,” Fury said before he left.

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

When Clint heard Bruce’s voice, it might as well have been a sedative. If Bruce was there, he knew he was okay. Okay in the immediate sense. Not okay in that he felt like crap. His head was thumping, his body ached. Then Fury spoke up. So, even less okay.

Something bad must have happened; the restraints told him that. He must have hurt someone. Clint dredged up the last thing he remembered – being in the briefing room. Waiting for Fury, waiting to come clean. He didn’t remember leaving, or seeing Fury,  so whatever had happened must have happened there, with multiple witnesses this time.

Busted. End of the road. A part of him was relieved it was over. Another, more pessimistic part of him felt like jumping off a building.

Finally the sorry excuse for a bed he was lying on moved of its own accord and the smooth white arc over his head disappeared in favour of a tiled ceiling with white strip lights. Two strangers soon entered his field of vision, shining a pen in his eyes and otherwise prodding and poking him. He was about to tell them where to shove it when Bruce appeared, a worried smile gracing his features.

“Hey. How are you feeling?”

Clint was surprised how much seeing Bruce’s face made jumping off that cliff seem like a stupid idea. “What happened? Did I hurt someone?” Clint asked, picking the two most pertinent questions from the hundreds racing through his pounding head.

“We’re all still standing,” Bruce said carefully. “But uh, you did break Tony’s nose and give Natasha a bump on the head. And you pointed a gun at Thor.”

Clint’s eyes widened. That was a lot of information to process. No wonder he was restrained.

He shouldn’t have left it so long, he should have told Fury sooner. A couple of injuries, but he could have easily killed someone. God, why the hell had he been so stupid? He wanted to run his hands through his hair or cover his face, get up and pace, hold Bruce until he felt better, to _run._ But the restraints were tight on his skin, reminding him that he wasn’t going anywhere.

“We’re going to move him to another room,” one of the doctors told Bruce, as if Clint wasn’t even there.

When they started to wheel the table (and it really was more a table than a bed) away, Clint felt the sudden urge to grab Bruce’s hand, but as it happened, Bruce wasn’t going anywhere. He stayed in Clint’s field of vision. He caught a few glimpses of other personnel, including a security team along for the ride, making up a ridiculously large entourage just for him. It was an odd compliment. After a short journey they ended up in a private room.

The doctor finally looked Clint in the eye. “We have to move you to another bed now.”

“You call this a bed?” Clint said, unable to help himself.

The doctor ignored his comment. Clint decided he really didn’t like this guy.

“You’ll still need to be restrained.”

“Is that really necessary?” Bruce asked.

“Director Fury’s orders. Sorry.” The blonde doctor seemed scared of Bruce. Clint wondered if something had happened to cause that. Most SHIELD personnel had been briefed to put on their game faces around Banner, in case of inadvertent provocation. So that’s what most of them did. Of course, it helped that they dealt with a _lot_ of weird stuff. Game faces were part of the uniform.

“It’s okay,” Clint said, mostly to Bruce. It warmed his heart a little knowing Bruce had his back. “I’ll be a good boy.”

Bruce seemed more horrified than Clint when two of the SHIELD agents drew their stun guns and poised themselves to use them.

After some awkward and tense shuffling, Clint was off the table and onto an only marginally more comfortable bed. He was sure not to make any sudden movements. They could easily take him down. He was weak and sleep-deprived, and had acquired a hospital gown that left little to the imagination.

The two doctors secured four leather and metals straps round his hands and ankles. If Clint said he didn’t think about running for it, he’d be lying. But he had to keep it together if he ever wanted to redeem himself. He was Jekyll, not Hyde. He had to maintain that distinction or there was no hope of getting Fury back on his side.

“We’ll be back later for a few more tests,” the doctor said, once again ignoring the patient and talking to the… what? Next of kin? Clint supposed the Avengers were the closest thing he had to a family, so yeah, why not. Bruce; next of kin. He kind of liked how that sounded, but it was nothing but a whimsy. It was hard to envision the future under present circumstances. Clint wondered where the others were. He’d expected Natasha to be close by at least.

The doctors left but security stayed.

“I don’t remember anything,” Clint said, knowing they wouldn’t get any more alone than this. “Who took me down?” he asked, realising he felt like crap but didn’t seem to have incurred any injuries as such.

“No-one. You passed out,” Bruce replied. “Your nose was bleeding.” He bit his lip.

Clint could tell there was something else to the story. A sense of dread welled up inside him. “So what aren’t you telling me?”

“They did an MRI while you were unconscious. That’s where you woke up. It showed some… unusual activity in your brain,” Bruce said grimly.

Clint stifled the urge to tell Bruce his brain had always worked in an unusual fashion.

“When you blacked out your eyes went the same blue as they did when-”

“When I was under Loki’s spell,” Clint finished, reality crashing down around him.

So Loki was in his head again, if he’d ever left in the first place. They had proof; witnesses and brain scans; Tony probably had evidence of him rigging the experiment that almost killed him.

Clint Barton was officially compromised. Again.

The seed of doubt had been there from the beginning, and it sure as hell explained a lot, but hearing it out loud was shattering. How was he supposed to come back from this? He’d already beat it once, and that hadn’t been enough. How did youfight _magic_ inside your head? As much as he’d like Natasha to supply some head trauma to sort out the problem, it was clearly not a long-term solution.

“Did they already round up the others who were affected?” Clint asked, remembering he was not alone.

“Agent Hill and Natasha’s are organising the round-up, I think,” Bruce replied.

So that was why she wasn’t nearby. Fury had probably ordered her to take care of it. She was much better use in the field than here. Clint was glad she wasn’t there. He couldn’t bear being exposed like this, weak and broken, strapped to a bed because he couldn’t be trusted. Some Avenger.

“Can you find out how it’s going?” Clint asked, suddenly needing to be alone. Or at least not looked at with sympathy or empathy or whatever was dripping off Bruce’s expression.

“Oh, sure,” Bruce said, eager to help. “I can call Fury to get an update and w-”

“No, I mean…” Clint interjected. “Can you just go? For a bit?”

Bruce looked like someone had kicked a puppy in front of him.

“I kind of need to wallow in self-pity for a while, you know? Get it out of my system.” Clint continued, trying to make the request sound a little less hurtful. He somehow forced a smile, thinking it might help. “I also need to pee, but that’s neither here nor there.”

Bruce’s brow furrowed in concern, apparently becoming immune to Clint’s sarcastic charm.

“I promise I’m not going anywhere,” Clint added, pulling at his wrist restraints to illustrate the point.

“Okay,” Bruce said, dejected. “Do you need anything else?”

 _How about a lobotomy?_ Clint thought, but decided it was in poor taste. “No, thanks.”

“I’ll be back later then,” Bruce said, getting to his feet. He paused before heading for the door. “You know we going to do everything we can, right? You’re going to be okay.”

Clint smiled. “I know,” he lied.

 

End of Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of you called it, kudos to y'all! Thanks for reading, I'm having a blast being mean to poor Clint.


	9. Patient

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for everyone who commented and messaged me, so kind!

He shouldn’t have been surprised that Clint wanted him to leave. Bruce had plenty of experience waking up in strange places, being told he’d done awful things. He got it. Even so, he couldn’t help feeling rejected as he slipped out of the room. He needed Clint to know that he wasn’t alone in this, but Clint had pushed him away. He tried to joke, a valiant effort, but Bruce saw through the mask. Clint was scared.

The severity of the situation hit him all of a sudden. It shouldn’t have, but it did.  It had been building so gradually, each little change occurring unnoticed. The tiredness, the strange behaviour, the worry in Clint’s eyes. Then when Bruce saw him strapped to a hospital bed, gaunt skin, eyes heavy with fear and exhaustion; it hit him at once even though it wasn’t a surprise. How had this happened? He could be given lenience, couldn’t he? After all, he met Clint only weeks ago. It seemed absurd once Bruce attached a timeframe on it. So much had happened in no time at all.

Not knowing how long Clint needed, an hour turned into two and then three. Fury had seen Clint but the others were asked to give him some space. Whether that was Clint’s request or Fury’s, Bruce didn’t know. He suspected as soon as Natasha was free from her duty there wasn’t much that could stop her, no matter whose request it was. Bruce knew they had a history, a bond he didn’t quite understand yet. The Director had sent her away quickly after Clint’s collapse. Something told him it wasn’t often Fury had to give the Russian agent an order twice. Was it to keep her priorities in check or was it a form of compassion that he ordered her away?

Clint had said the pair of them weren’t together, but that didn’t mean they hadn’t been. Their history didn’t bother Bruce. At least, he told himself it didn’t. It was absurd, but there was a kernel of inferiority in his mind. They’d known each other for years; Bruce had known Clint a matter of days. Did a few pseudo-dates and two nights in bed (and the shower) give Bruce the right to feel like this? He tried to push away the thought, chastising himself for being paranoid. It wasn’t a competition. It wasn’t time for petty jealousy or whatever this was. It was about helping Clint get better. Everything else could wait.

Natasha did return in a few hours, but she didn’t see Clint straight away. She’d been gathering the other agents and civilians affected by Loki’s spear. They were being held elsewhere on the base. The Avengers had occupied one of the huge complex’s briefing rooms to discuss what was happening.

“It’s still early, but so far no-one else is showing any signs of infection, for lack of a better word,” Natasha explained. “Everyone is getting an MRI and being evaluated as we speak.”

Tony scoffed, then winced as he apparently felt a painful twinge in his nose. “Didn’t Hawkass have both those things and yet still manage to go postal and break my nose?” he said.

Natasha glared at him, unsympathetic. Bruce might have done the same.

Tony noticed. “And you with the,” he pointed at Natasha’ forehead as an afterthought, then made a gun with his fingers and aimed them Thor, “and you. See, I didn’t forget.”

“We know what we’re looking for now,” Natasha clarified, sighing.

“Yeah, well maybe we should get Thor to bring everyone cookies, just in case,” Tony muttered.

“That’s not a bad idea,” Steve said, causing everyone to turn and look incredulously at him, including Tony.

Steve rolled his eyes and blushed a little with embarrassment. “Well, obviously not the cookie part. But Thor seemed to trigger Clint’s… outburst. It couldn’t hurt.”

“It might hurt his feelings,” Tony said, just to be contrary.

“This isn’t funny, Tony,” Bruce rebuked. He couldn’t help it. Bruce knew his humour was just a self-defence thing with Tony but it still amazed him that the man could be so blasé about serious situations. Tony knew better than to push it further, and kept quiet.

“I will do what I can to assist,” Thor announced.

Fury turned to Natasha. “Oversee the evaluations. Take Thor with you,” the Director decided.

“I must meet with my lady Jane. She is here with Erik Selvig,” Thor said. It sounded like a request, but no-one could stop him if that’s what he wanted to do.

Bruce had almost forgotten Thor had a more personal attachment to the situation. Dr. Selvig seemed like a nice man. He had yet to meet Jane.

“Sir, I’d like to look in on Barton, make sure security’s up to scratch,” Tasha said, seeing an opportunity.

Fury nodded. If he saw through the request, he didn’t let on. “Do what you need to do then get to work.”

Natasha and Thor left. Then there were four.

“What can we do to help?” Steve asked.

Tony couldn’t help top him. “Better question, where’s the spear?”

Bruce took it all back. Loki’s spear hadn’t even crossed his mind. Tony had obviously been thinking about how to help Clint after all.

“Loki’s spear?” Steve asked.

Tony looked like he was biting back a sarcastic response. “Yeah. It’s what turned everyone into Zombie GI Joes, right? Other than Barton’s head, I don’t see a better place to start trying to figure this out.”

Bruce couldn’t tell if Fury was impressed by Tony’s enthusiasm for helping or suspicious of his motives. Sure, Tony had loved getting his hands on alien technology, but Bruce didn’t doubt his intentions. If he’d really wanted access to the spear, he would have tried before now.

“It’s at one of our research facilities,” Fury told him. “Last report says it’s inert.”

Tony smirked. “Give me five minutes alone with her, I’ll warm her up.”

To everyone’s surprise, Fury was open to the idea. A man in a suit seemed to appear from nowhere to receive his orders. They would transport the spear to the base along with some of Tony’s lab equipment, since he was pretty picky about what he used. The Suit left in a hurry.

“Dr. Banner, you’ll be joining Mr. Stark with the research, I presume?” Fury asked.

“Sure, of course. However I can help,” Bruce confirmed.

Fury turned to the Steve. “Captain, we need to get a log of Agent Barton’s movements.”

Tony couldn’t help himself. “That sounds invasive.”

“Uh, I already asked JARVIS to do that,” Bruce admitted. He thought he’d better come clean, since keeping secrets hadn’t worked out so well in recent past. “He couldn’t provide many details. I don’t whether Clint was able to tamper with it… him.”

That seemed to spark something forgotten in Tony’s mind. “Speaking of which…”

Fury was already way ahead of him. “Working under the assumption the presumed attempt on your life was Agent Barton’s work,” Fury continued. “We’ll send personnel to sweep Stark Tower for any security threats. Captain, I want you to trace Barton’s movements over the past few days. Set up a timeline. We need to know what he’s been up to.”

Everyone clear on their orders, the remaining team dispersed with renewed purpose, but Bruce held back.

“Something else on your mind, Doctor?” Fury inquired.

“What’s going to happen to Clint?” Bruce asked outright. He knew SHIELD were organised, prepared for things most government agencies didn’t even know existed, and he needed to know what contingences they had for a compromised agent. He had vision of reinforced padded rooms, isolation, drugs keeping him barely conscious. Bruce’s own nightmare had become one he feared for Clint.

Fury must have detected his concern. He kept his tone calm and assuring. “We’ll keep him under observation here on the base. He’ll have to undergo medical and psychological tests. We have some of the finest medical personnel in the world working with us. If there’s a medical way to help Agent Barton, they’ll find it.”

Bruce was placated a little. “I’d like to stay in the loop with that,” he declared.

“I’ll see that you’re read in.”

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

Clint told Fury everything; about the nightmares, the blackouts, about Marlowe and the possibility of being the culprit in Tony’s assassination attempt. Being honest had been difficult but Fury actually made it surprisingly easy. He’d even refused Clint’s apology. _“Alien influence is up there with the best excuses you can get, Barton.”_

The Director took it in his stride. Clint should have known he’d have everything under control. He told Clint about the investigation into Tony’s experiment and the security sweep, that the other victims had been rounded up and secured. He was headed to a meeting with the other Avengers, no doubt their jobs already set in his mind. All that was left was to find a cure. No big deal.

Except the night was creeping up, slow and steady, ready to bring either nightmares or madness. Clint didn’t know what was going to happen, just that everyone was going to watch; the camera in the corner of the room reminded him of that. Doctors had been rushing around him for the past hour, attaching wires and pads to his skin, mainly his head. It was a midnight show they were waiting for, and Clint was the main attraction. Just like being back at the circus, except this time he was in the freak show.

The doctor in charge of his ‘case’ seemed nice enough, for an MD.

“My name is Doctor Wilde,” he’d said after sweeping into the room in the same way arrogant doctors seemed to do on TV. He was tall and blonde, unfairly chiselled, with well-kept stubble. From his dark-rimmed glasses he finally looked up from his clipboard and back at Clint.

“Yeah, I know.” Clint immediately recognised him. He’d seen a lot of SHIELD medics but Wilde stuck in his head. “You put my arm in a cast two years ago, used curse words I didn’t even know existed to try to get me to sit still. I hope your bedside manner’s improved, doc.” The words spilled out of his mouth. It was a subconscious habit Clint had during awkward introductions.

“Ah, I remember,” Wilde said with recognition. “As I recall you wanted to go back out in the field with a fractured ulna _and_ a bullet in your leg. You were quite troublesome. I trust you’ll be a little more co-operative this time round?”

Clint scoffed. “Trusting me’s probably a mistake considering I have violent blackouts. Didn’t you read the brief?”

“Funny,” Wilde said, not meaning it. “I’ll take that as an enthusiastic yes. I’ll be in charge of your work-up. First thing’s first, we’re going to monitor your brainwaves overnight. The Director said you mentioned the possibility of blackouts overnight, is that right?”

“Yeah,” Clint said uneasily. It was strange talking about it like it was any other medical problem that could be diagnosed and treated. If he was honest, it was strange talking about it _at all_.

“Okay. I’ve also authorised some pain medication for your hip, which isn’t fractured, just bruised, in case you were wondering.”

Clint had forgotten all about it, but the dull ache had been there since he’d woken up.

“Do you have any questions?” Wilde asked.

“I have to sleep in restraints?” was the only one Clint could think of on the spot. He suspected he knew the answer already.

“We’re setting up a secure room that will be more comfortable,” Wilde told him. “It’s just for one night.”

Just one night. It sounded like a simple enough thing.

But Clint knew better.

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

It took under an hour for Loki’s sceptre to arrive under armed guard to the facility. Tony’s equipment arrived at the same time. Tony quizzed the scientists who had already been working on it, their ‘ineptitude’ bugging the hell out of him almost immediately. He shooed them away, leaving only he and Bruce to study the weapon.

“Science versus magic. Who’d have thought that would be a serious reality,” Tony pondered aloud.

“Seems pretty serious now,” Bruce said grimly. He was in two minds about whether or not to go back to see Clint. They’d parted on strange terms. It was a strange situation. Bruce wasn’t exactly a master of _normal_ social interactions; he hadn’t a clue about how to handle this one. He wanted to be there for Clint, but figuring out the best way to do that was the trouble. Was it here, analysing the spear for any data they could glean from it? Or at Clint’s side, reassuring him by just being there? He probably knew which Clint would say he preferred.

“Get your head in the game, Banner. Science has got to kick magic’s ass, I need you,” Tony said, throwing a ball of paper at his head.

“I’m here,” Bruce replied. He could take a look at this thing and give Clint an update later. There was still time left before it was too late.

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

When Natasha arrived, Clint had to admit he wasn’t thrilled to see her. He’d just already explained everything to Fury, now he had to do it all over again, with extra guilt.

She strode in with a determined look on her face. “Want to tell me what the hell you were thinking? Did you think you could get away with not telling me?”

“Tash, I…” Clint trailed off. Would anything he had to say be a good enough excuse for shutting her out?

“Explain yourself,” Natasha demanded. But there was a wayward glimmer in her eye. “What’s the deal with you and Bruce? Did you hook up or what?”

Clint was still pretty tired, so Natasha had even longer to relish the look of confusion on his face before he realised what she’d said. When he did, (tipped off mostly by the mischievously raised eyebrow), he smiled wide. It was the most human he’d felt all day. Natasha mirrored the grin – a sight to be savoured. She perched on the chair Bruce had sat in earlier and it was clear she actually wanted an answer.

“Seeing as everything I say is being recorded,” Clint said. “I’m gonna have to plead the fifth on that one.”

“Spoilsport.” Natasha smiled, kicking the bed lightly. The smile faded. “Then how about you answer the other question.”

“Oh yeah? Which one’s that?” Clint asked, as if postponing the inevitable would make any difference.

“Why you didn’t tell me any of this was happening,” Natasha stated.

“Because I’m an idiot?” he replied. She wanted an answer this time and Clint knew he owed her one, but nothing more substantial came to mind. “Because there wasn’t a Hallmark card for ‘I’m going crazy’?” he tried. “I mean, I know it’s a niche market but...”

Natasha rolled her eyes and looked away.

“I’m sorry,” Clint said.

Natasha glanced at his restraints, then met his gaze. “Me too.”

After a few moments of silence she spoke again. “Bruce is worried about you.”

Clint sighed. For the hundredth time, he tried to lift his hand to rub his eyes and was stopped, the restraints a periodic reminder of his current predicament. He settled for groaning in frustration. “I shouldn’t have started anything,” he admitted. “All this shit going on in my head and I still went for it. I’m an asshole.”

“No you’re not,” Natasha quickly refuted. “Just an idiot.”

“Thanks. I feel better now.”

“Make sure you do,” Natasha said quite seriously. “Because once you’re back on your feet I’m going to kick your ass for keeping all this from me.”

“Hey, why wait? It might actually be a good idea now, considering what happened last time you kicked my ass.” Clint knew it was a sensitive subject, but it didn’t feel out of line. Besides, if you couldn’t joke about trying to kill your best friend under an evil god’s magical influence, what hope was there?

“I already suggested it,” Natasha sighed. “For some reason doctors aren’t that supportive of head trauma as a cure-all.”

“Really? Weird,” Clint said, matching her mock puzzlement.

Natasha smirked and got up. “I can’t stay, I have to get back to work. I’m overseeing the other patients’ assessments.”

 _Patients_. Had a better ring to it than ‘victims’, Clint thought. “Keep me posted?” he asked. He realised as he said it that he’d asked Bruce to do the same. Bruce hadn’t returned yet. Clint did feel guilty about kicking him out, but truthfully it was the hurt and the worry in Bruce’s eyes that Clint couldn’t look at. It reminded him of the reckless decision to drag someone down with him.

“Sure,” Natasha said. “There’s one more thing.” She paused. “I know you can get out of those restraints.”

Clint looked down at the leather and metal straps. Natasha was right. He’d learned more than a few tricks in his time at SHIELD. He’d even escaped from very similar shackles before on a particular undercover mission in Beirut. Natasha’s observation hadn’t occurred to Clint because he didn’t _want_ to escape. But his body and mind could betray him at any moment. He was unsure if it had slipped his mind or something in his head was whispering at him to keep it quiet. Which was a troubling thought.

“Yeah, you should probably mention that to someone,” he said.

Natasha gave a slight nod and left Clint with only the camera for company.

Despite his uncomfortable surroundings, Clint couldn’t help but eventually succumb to the grips of sleep; his last conscious thoughts of how he would wake up. Would it be terrified, breathless and sweaty from the tendrils of a nightmare? Or would it be under Loki’s control, a marionette filled with all his rage and bad intent? He wasn’t sure which was worse.

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

“You look exhausted, why don’t you get some sleep?”

The question tugged Bruce from his daze. He and Tony had engrossed themselves in their separate lines of scientific enquiry for the past hour after working together for the first three. It would have been fascinating, even enjoyable work if the stakes weren’t so high.

“I’m okay,” Bruce replied. He was, in fact, desperately tired but Clint needed answers sooner rather than later. There was no way Bruce could sleep in good conscience.

“Okay. It’s just that you just made a mistake in your calculations there,” Tony pointed out nonchalantly. “Thought you might be running on fumes.”

“What?” Bruce looked at his screen again. He studied it for longer than he should have needed to. Tony was right, there was a mistake. “Damn it.”

“Come on, Doc. Barton needs your best game. Go sleep,” Tony said. His tone was softer than normal. “Besides, everybody gets cranky when they’re tired. Cranky leads to angry, anger leads to hate, hate leads to… leads to… wait, don’t tell me…”

“Please just stop talking,” Bruce insisted.

“See what I mean?” Tony gestured at him with the pen in his hand. “Cranky.”

Bruce sighed. Tony had a point. “How are you not tired?” he asked. If anything, Tony seemed more awake now than he had been all day. It must have been the new toy they’d been allowed to play with.

“Well, ah, maybe my night wasn’t as eventful as yours,” Tony said tactfully, though failing to hide the smirk on his lips. “I wasn’t going to bring it up, but...”

Bruce had to stop and think, running his hands through his hair. Had it really only been last night he and Clint fallen into bed together? It seemed so far away. It had been a really long day. Bruce glanced at his watch. It was 1am. _Damn._ He’d planned on going to see Clint again, but it was probably too late now.

“Maybe I could grab a couple of hours,” he said, ignoring Tony’s fish for gossip.

“I’ll come and get you if I make any headway,” Tony said, looking back at the spear like it was a suspect being interrogated, and wasn’t saying a thing. “She’s a cold bitch though. Might take a while.”

It was true; they hadn’t made much progress at all as of yet. The team of SHIELD scientists had made several dozen reports on how little progress they’d made. Tony had skimmed through the stack of papers and promptly made better use them as a coaster for his numerous coffee cups.

Bruce left Tony alone with his new project. His passion and scientific curiosity really were unparalleled, Bruce just hoped he didn’t lose sight of their motives. Bruce wanted to trust him, of course he did. But trust didn’t come easy. It never had.

He found himself meandering towards Clint’s room despite the time. He bumped into one of the doctors he’d spoken to before. Being terrible with names, he tried to surreptitiously look at his nametag. It was Dr. Singer, the man he’d threatened earlier. So that explained the nervous disposition.

“Doctor Banner, I didn’t know you were still here.”

“How’s Cl- how’s the patient?” Bruce didn’t know why it felt weird to use Clint’s name, but it did.

“Sleeping. Uneventfully, for now,” Singer told him. “We’re monitoring him from the room down the hall.”

Bruce felt a pang of guilt for not returning when he’d said he would. But it was too late to do anything about it now. “Oh. Good. That’s good.”

Singer seemed to relax a little.

“Is there somewhere around here I can sleep for a while?” Bruce asked.

“Uh, yes, yes. There’s a spare bed down the hall. Fourth door on your right.”

“Thanks.”

On his way past Clint’s room, he couldn’t help steal a glance through the window panel of the door. The two security guards had moved outside the room and were standing each side of the door now. Bruce couldn’t loiter and only managed to see Clint for a brief second. He was asleep and still, like Singer had said. Bruce wondered what was going on inside his head.

The room Singer had directed him to was not unlike Clint’s - which made Bruce feel even more sorry for him when he felt how uncomfortable the bed was. He managed to drift off to a restless sleep despite the discomfort.

When he woke up, his back and neck ached. Since there were no windows, Bruce had no idea of the time. Clearly Tony nor anyone else had woken him. He presumed Tony hadn’t made any breakthroughs, and as for everyone else, well, there weren’t many who would take the risk of rudely awakening Bruce Banner in fear of waking someone else. The urge to check on Clint drove him out of the room without visiting the bathroom or checking himself in the mirror. Not that he was ever particularly concerned with his appearance. He must have looked like a mess, sleeping in his clothes, rebellious stubble gracing his cheeks. Unconsciously smoothing down his crumpled shirt, Bruce approached Clint’s room, only to notice the security personnel weren’t outside. Peering round the door, he found the room empty.

A slight degree of panic sparked inside, but Bruce tried to quell it with logic. No-one had woken him, no alarms were going off, they probably just took Clint for more tests. Nothing to worry about.

A nurse was walking down the hall, idly looking at a chart.

“Excuse me, where is Agent Barton? Is he alright?”

The nurse looked at the empty room. For some reason Bruce was expecting her to say something along the lines of ‘there never was an Agent Barton. Are you alright, sir?’

“He’s gone for an evaluation, I think,” she said instead. “He had an episode in the night, but he’s doing better today.”

Bruce barely heard the last part. “An episode? What kind of episode?”

“He had nightmare, woke up in a panic. He was struggling against the restraints so we had to subdue him with haldol so he didn’t hurt himself or anyone else. He slept peacefully after that.”

Bruce cursed himself for not being there. He’s been there for one of the nightmares. It had taken a good minute to calm Clint down, bring him back to reality. He couldn’t help imaging Clint waking up like that strapped to a bed in a strange place, with strangers trying to calm him down. It was a wonder no-one was hurt.

“Where is he?”

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

Clint was not a good patient. And that was before he had alien magic inside his brain. The nightmare had been just as bad as he’d expected, maybe worse. Unfamiliar surroundings, strangers and restraints. It was a combination destined to cause trouble, and cause trouble it did. Clint had panicked. The anger and pain left over from the nightmare told him to run and fight for all he was worth. Urgent beeps from nearby monitors meant nothing to him, but obviously everything to the swarm of doctors and security personnel that rushed in. They held him down but that just made it worse. They called his name and told him to calm down, but the words might as well have been in another language for the good they did.

He saw the needle and roared in anger and desperation. Then everything started to fall away again.

The next morning Clint’s head was still groggy but the forced sleep he’d after the drugs actually made him feel a little better, physically. There was no easy way to tell what time it was. No windows and no clocks, just what a man losing his mind needed. For an age it seemed he lay alone staring at the ceiling. Until…

“Did you sleep well?”

Clint felt his skin chill. He recognised the voice immediately. It was no doctor.

Clint didn’t respond. He tried to pretend he couldn’t hear anything, that Loki wasn’t in the room with him. Because he _wasn’t_. It was impossible, and he _knew_ it was impossible. It was all in head, but he could smell leather, and hear footsteps and every ounce of him was screaming to fight or flee.

“Ignoring me?” the illusion said. “Another fine Midgardian resolution.”

It wasn’t just for his own sanity Clint knew he couldn’t reply. He was being watched. He could hear what he assumed was his heart rate of blood pressure monitor increase in speed.

“You hear me, you see me. Ah, but you do not want your friends to know I am here,” Loki said. “Even though it is their fault?”

Clint bit his lip and continued to stare at the ceiling, but he couldn’t help but listen. He wanted to know what Loki meant.

“If they hadn’t introduced that concoction into your blood, we might not be having this delightful one-sided conversation.”

“Go away,” Clint muttered unintentionally. He heard how pathetic it sounded as soon as the words passed his lips. Clint screwed his eyes tightly shut, feeling like a child trying to ignore the monster in the closet.

For a few moments nothing happened.

Then a voice close enough to make the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. “My dear broken soldier. I am not going anywhere.”

 

End of Chapter Nine


	10. Not So Patient

They didn’t call it interrogation; they called it an evaluation to make Clint feel more at ease. Except the last evaluation he’d been subject to hadn’t exactly made him feel at ease, and that one hadn’t included being cuffed to a cold metal chair or being watched through two-way glass. It didn’t feel like an evaluation. It felt like an interrogation.

But he didn’t complain. God, what right did he have to complain? Of course they were watching him, of _course_ they had secured him. One of SHIELD’s top agents, trained in armed and unarmed combat, infiltration and subterfuge, had blacked out and attacked his friends, woken up screaming like a lunatic, had _magic_ in his head. He was dangerous and he belonged in this room, being watched like a criminal because for all intents and purposes he was an enemy right now. What had Loki called him? _My dear broken soldier._ And so help him, Clint felt like one.

They’d asked him about his symptoms, where he’d been, what he’d been doing. Did he have an agenda, did he remember anything from his blackouts (no, that was why they call them blackouts, wasn’t it?), did he set the experiment that almost killed Tony? Clint was sure he was more disturbed than they were that he couldn’t give them straight answers. He didn’t have them to give.

“Is there anything else? Something you haven’t mentioned yet? I need you to be honest with me.”

Clint looked up at his interrogator  - no, his _interviewer_ – through weary eyes. Yet another doctor with a dozen acronyms after his name. Clint thought he remembered the shrink’s name was Barber, but he’d met so many doctors he couldn’t be expected to remember them _all._

There were two things Clint had yet to mention: the hallucinations and Loki’s emotional baggage. The former was far easier to explain.

“I see him sometimes.”

“Who?” Barber asked.

“Santa Claus,” Clint sighed. “I’m trying to get a mountain bike out of him but apparently I’ve been a naughty boy.”

Barber was not amused. That made two of them.

“You’ve seen Loki,” Barber surmised. “How often?”

“A few times.”

“Do you speak to him at all? Does he speak to you?”

“No,” Clint replied quickly. “It’s just glances. Double take and he’s gone kinda thing.” He wasn’t sure why he lied. Clint was trying to co-operate but his patience was wearing thin. They’d been talking for hours and Barber kept repeating the same questions. Clint wanted the transfer to the secure room Wilde had mentioned. He needed to walk around, stretch his legs, scratch the itchy nose he’d been scrunching for the past hour. He wanted to be left alone, or at least buy the illusion of being alone. Mentioning Loki's latest visit wouldn't change much for the better.

“Does he tell you to do anything?” Barber asked, for some reason. Everything he said came with a mask of casualness, familiarity even though Clint had never met the man before today. It was infuriating. 

“Isn’t a large part of your job description _listening_ to people?” Clint bit back. "Because you're not very good at it."

“You seem agitated. Do you need a break? Some water?” There was that false friendliness again. _Ugh._

“That depends.” Clint sighed in response to the question. “How much longer are you going to keep asking me the same questions with different words?” he retorted. He knew it was snarky but he was beyond caring.

Barber was a tall and lanky man with short dark hair. Clint could probably snap him in two if he wanted to. Hence being cuffed to the chair.

“Let’s take a break,” Barber replied, failing to answer Clint’s question.

As it happened, Clint was quite thirsty but had been holding off on asking for water since his arms were immobilised. The thought of someone having to offer the glass up to his mouth like some kind of sick child was unbearable. It was that or a really long curly straw.

Barber left the room. So this was a break, staring at an empty chair in the same room he’d been in for the past… how long had it been? Was there a ban on clocks at SHIELD bases and he just hadn’t received the email?

Clint huffed in frustration and attempted to lean forward to rest his head on the table. He found he couldn’t. The chair he had been unceremoniously attached to was, in turn, attached to the floor, and just a few inches shy of allowing him the simple act of resting his head. So that was great.

After a few minutes, Barber returned and settled back into his seat. Clint knew he’d probably been talking about him with whoever was behind that mirror. Fury was the most likely suspect. The other Avengers had their missions but any one of them could be watching too. The thought of any one of them listening to him describing his insanity was an uncomfortable one.

“Why don’t you tell me about your relationship with Dr. Banner?” Barber said, not bothering to sugar his words with tact.

Clint had déjà vu. “Why would I want to do that?” he snapped defensively. It wasn’t like he wanted their… relationship, or whatever it was, to be a secret. But something about being forced to talk about it with a psychiatrist, with an unseen audience of voyeurs scribbling down notes and judging, when he hadn’t even talked about it with _Bruce_ , well that was just wrong. Even Bruce could be behind that glass.

“It’s a concern,” Barber said simply.

Clint was not satisfied. “Why?” he repeated.

“Just answer the question, Agent. Please.” Barber’s tone had lost some of its friendliness.

“Okay. Why don’t I tell you about my relationship with Dr. Banner? Because it’s irrelevant, that’s why,” Clint said as calmly as he could muster. “And none of your _concern_.”

Barber actually looked irritated. Clint took guilty pleasure in the small victory. While he’d resigned himself to being a lab rat for the foreseeable future, it didn’t mean he had to like it.

“Agent Barton,” Barber said icily. “May I remind you that Director Fury has given me full reign with my questioning,” Barber continued. “You assured us your full co-operation. Now I need to know why you started dating Dr. Banner. Why do I need to know? Because Loki used Bruce Banner and the Hulk in a plan once before.”

Clint froze, any hint of defiance burned out of him. This wasn’t like his assessment with Marlowe. This wasn’t an innocent evaluation to see if he was okay; they knew he wasn’t okay. Barber wasn’t looking out for Clint, he was looking out for everyone else. His job wasn’t to find out if Clint was okay, it was to assess the degree to which he had been compromised.

It was a harsh reminder.

Barber had been thinking, or someone else behind that glass had. Clint considered the insinuation briefly, but as quickly as Barber had made it, Clint dismissed it as absurd. The suggestion he’d started seeing Bruce because of some buried subconscious agenda made him angry. It wasn’t true, it couldn’t be.

“Agent?” Barber prompted.

“Look,” Clint said. “I’m tired and thirsty and this chair’s making my ass go numb, but I’m still me. I’m not Loki. I’m not working for him. I might be a sleepwalking asshole with an agenda but right now _I’m still me_.”

Barber had listened to the tirade patiently. “You’re a smart man, Agent. Surely you’ve considered the possibility that you might be compromised beyond your own awareness,” he said.

“No,” Clint flatly denied. “There’s no way. I haven’t been acting out Loki’s fucked up screenplay while I’m awake.”

“Maybe not consciously,” Barber countered. “You had no idea these blackouts were taking place at first. What else don’t you know about your own behaviour?”

Clint couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “What are you saying? I _seduced_ Banner so I could what? Break up with him and hurt his feelings?” he asked rhetorically. “If I wanted him to hulk out and go on a rampage, believe me, there are easier ways.”

“Alright. Let’s leave that aside for now,” Barber said, backing off. “What about Tony Stark?” he asked. “Let’s say you wanted to hurt him. What would you do? Rig an experiment to give him a shock that might not even be fatal?”

Clint had to give him credit, he’d clearly been thinking about this.

“No,” Clint admitted. “I’d use an arrow. A knife or a gun maybe. Something quick. Assassinations aren’t really that complicated.”

“Unless you don’t want to get caught,” Barber suggested.

Clint fell silent, considering what Barber was saying. Despite the insistence of his own innocence, a kernel of doubt had surfaced in Clint’s gut. Had fear really been the reason he hadn’t told anyone about what was happening earlier? Or was it something else telling him not to, a whisper in his ear?

Could he have been acting on a residual agenda left over from the spell? Who knew what was possible with magic. But if it was true, what _was_ the agenda? Loki’s plan was over, there was no more portal, no more alien invasion. The god was locked up in some Asgardian cell, so what was left of the plans he made? What was the puppet supposed to do without the puppeteer? Break Loki out of prison? Highly unlikely to come to fruition. Kill Thor? That one felt real. Even now the thought of the Thunder God made Clint’s blood start to boil. But all this had started before Thor returned. The odd attempt on Tony’s life didn’t add up.

“It doesn’t make sense,” Clint said. “Rigging the experiment was messy. I would have done it right. With Loki’s intentions and my skillset? Stark should be in the morgue right now.”

“Even if you didn’t set up the experiment, you’ve admitted the possibility of several long stretches of lost time. You must have some guess as to what you were doing.”

Clint closed his eyes and dropped his head. They kept coming back to the same question, as if he would miraculously have an answer the fifteenth time around.

Barber continued despite the reaction. “Your blackouts, the ones we know about for certain, they were aggressive. Violent. Correct?” he asked finally, not waiting for an answer. “Your conversation with Dr. Marlowe, the attack in the briefing room. It stands to reason how ever many other episodes you’ve had weren’t spent composing sonnets.”

Clint sighed. “I don’t know, Loki seemed to like theatrics. Maybe we were writing a play,” he returned. He was beginning to suspect Barber was deliberately trying to rile him up. Two could play at that game.

“You said ‘we’,” the doctor pointed out. “Is that what it feels like? Like Loki is inside your head? Talking to you?”

“That’s not what I said,” Clint replied a little too quickly.

“So what does it feel like?” Barber asked.

“Right now? It doesn’t feel like anything. No, you know what, scratch that. It feels like I’ve been chained to a chair for the past four hours, baited and prodded and asked the same goddamn questions over and over again until all I can hear is white noise. It feels like I’ve met half the fucking medical staff on SHIELD’s payroll. It feels like I haven’t had a decent meal or a drink for I don’t even know how long, because there are no goddamn clocks anywhere. It feels like I’m an enemy of the division I’d die for because some asshole god from another planet wanted a pet soldier.” Clint finished the rant almost shouting, which he hadn’t intended.

Barber didn’t seem fazed. “Feel better?” he asked.

“A little,” Clint admitted.

“Okay. That’s enough for now. We’ll have you moved to a secure room. It’ll be a little more comfortable there. We’ll get you something to eat.”

Clint let out a breath of relief. Despite knowing he would end up back in the same chair again at some point, all he could think about was getting out of the room.

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

“Can I help you, Doctor?” Fury asked when Bruce entered the room.

The nurse had led him to where Clint was undergoing his ‘evaluation’, whatever that entailed. From the looks of it, it wasn’t a medical evaluation but a psychological one. Through two-way glass Bruce could see Clint sitting at a table, a doctor opposite him. Clint was strapped to the chair and looked exhausted and irritated beyond normal bounds.

“Uh, no,” Bruce answered. I just came to see if Clint was alright,” Bruce said. “I heard about the incident in the night.”

Fury didn’t seem too bothered at the intrusion. He had promised to keep Bruce read-in on the case, after all.

“He seems usual charming self,” Fury said sarcastically. “Only Stark could give him a run for his money as worst patient on base.”

Bruce smirked a little.

“Have you made any progress on the spear?” Fury asked.

“No, not yet,” Bruce replied. “It’s still early. I was on my way to check in with Tony,” Bruce lied. He probably should have sought out Tony before checking on Clint, but Clint was the first thing he thought about when he woke up. He wanted to see how SHIELD was treating him.

“Let’s take a break,” the doctor said from inside the room, his voice carried through a speaker.

Bruce watched as Clint was left alone and tried to lean forward to rest his head on the table. Bruce didn’t know how long he had been in there, but from the frustration oozing from Clint’s body language and expression, it had been quite a while.

The blonde man entered the room. Bruce glanced at his security pass. His name was Dr. Barber (and he didn’t photograph well). He glanced at Bruce but turned his focus to Fury.

“He’s getting irritable but that’s to be expected. We’ll should pause for lunch soon, he’ll need some energy for the… for later,” Barber said, instantly setting off Bruce’s suspicions.

“No need for that, Doctor,” Fury said. “Dr. Banner is going to be fully apprised of Agent Barton’s care. Why don’t you ask Barton about what we talked about, see where that takes you, then we’ll break.”

Barber looked at Bruce. “Alright,” he said, and left the room.

Bruce’s curiosity was on fire with the coded messages flying around. He turned to Fury hoping for an explanation. “What’s happening later?”

“That can wait for a minute. This might be hard for you to hear, Doctor,” the Director told him.

“What’s going on?” Bruce asked warily.

“It’s just a theory we have to put forward,” Fury told him. “It involves you. If you feel like it’s something you can handle hearing, you’re welcome to stay and observe.”

Bruce wasn’t sure he liked the implications. They were going to question Clint about him? What was this theory? If Fury was worried about the Hulk making an appearance, it had to be bad. Bruce couldn’t leave without knowing. If he couldn’t handle it, he could always step out, or so he told himself.

Bruce turned back to Clint. Barber had just barely sat down when he asked the question.

“Why don’t you tell me about your relationship with Dr. Banner?”

The colour drained from Bruce’s face. Suddenly he felt exposed. He didn’t even know this man; how could he ask something so personal? What relevance could their relationship have to what was happening to Clint?

Bruce watched as Barber proceeded to push the matter and Clint got defensive, obviously feeling it was unrelated and none of anyone else’s business.

Then the point became horribly clear.

_“Loki used Bruce Banner and the Hulk in a plan once before.”_

Bruce found himself shaking his head. “Are you serious?”

Fury didn’t take his eyes off what was going on in the other room.

“You think Clint would… no, you’re wrong. I’d know,” Bruce said.

“Like I said, it’s just a theory,” Fury explained calmly. “We have to explore all possibilities. I said we’d keep you read in on Barton’s case, I didn’t say it was going to pleasant.”

Bruce watched Clint’s face closely as he processed the same information Bruce had just received. If he gave the theory any semblance of consideration, it was brief. It was a relief to see Clint deny it despite Barber’s insistence. Then again, if there was any truth to it, Clint wasn’t exactly likely to admit it… Bruce chastised himself. He couldn’t let himself think like that. When Clint kissed him, held him close, laughed with him, carried him when he couldn’t walk, it was real. It had to be.

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

After Barber moved away from the invasive topic of his and Bruce’s relationship, they ended the session. Bruce didn’t know how long the interview had gone before he’d arrived, but judging by Clint’s closing rant, it had been a long time.

Bruce watched as they swapped one set of shackles for another and led the relieved patient away to his knew accommodation. Bruce decided Clint didn’t need to know he’d been behind the glass watching the last part of the interview. His privacy had already been invaded; Bruce didn’t want to add to the indignity. He stayed behind while they moved Clint into the secure room. Clint seemed at least marginally happier knowing that was where he was going. Bruce thought it would be a good idea to get an update from Tony and Natasha before going to visit, then at least he’d have some information for Clint.

“What’s happening later?” Bruce asked Fury again. He hadn’t forgotten that Barber had steered clear of mentioning something earlier.

Fury was forthright. “We’re going to try and induce a blackout while Barton is attached to some monitoring equipment,” he said.

Bruce appreciated the Director’s candidness but it didn’t stop the rise of alarm. “Is that a good idea? He collapsed after the last blackout. What if he doesn’t wake up this time?”

Fury knew well enough not to fuel Bruce’s panic. He spoke steadily and coolly. “The medical team need all the information they can get on what’s going on in his head. We’ll have him in the right environment this time, a medical team standing by throughout the whole process. I’m well aware it’s a risk, but a necessary one.”

Bruce knew Fury was trying to appeal to the scientist in him. To solve a problem you needed all the data you could get. But this was Clint, not some equation to be worked out.

“We know what we’re doing, Doctor. Barton’s already agreed to it,” Fury assured. “We’re pursuing this from every angle.

“Not every angle,” Bruce replied.

“Oh?” Fury said, intrigued.

The thought had occurred to Bruce earlier, but he had dismissed it. It wasn’t a good idea, but then neither was inducing a blackout. A dozen scientists hadn’t been able to glean anything from the spear. It was no more a long shot than any of their other plans.

“What about Loki?”

“Loki?” Fury almost laughed. “Somehow I doubt that he’d be willing to help.”

“I could make him,” Bruce said through gritted teeth. This was all Loki’s fault, after all. Bruce wouldn’t mind giving the Hulk another shot at beating the crap out of him again.

Fury did laugh this time; but he seemed more impressed than patronizing. “Is that so? Look, I appreciate your enthusiasm, Doctor, I do. Thor suggested talking to Loki too. But even if we could get to him, he can’t be trusted. If Thor got him to talk, if the Hulk managed to beat an answer out of him, there’s nothing to say it will be the truth. Barton’s not done fighting yet and neither are we. We’ll handle this in-house for now.”

Bruce wasn’t sure if it was ignorance or well-developed tact that allowed Fury to somehow shoot him down without pissing him off, but from everything Bruce had seen, Fury didn’t become Director of SHIELD by being ignorant. At least he hadn’t dismissed the idea outright, even though it was a pretty desperate one. Then again, not many people dismissed Bruce outright.

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

The new locale was, indeed, much better. It was smaller than he’d hoped, with room for one bed, a cabinet (bolted to the floor of course), and a wall mounted TV behind two inch thick safety glass, but it was secure enough. Tiny air vents, obviously. A camera, naturally. Three walls were solid concrete; the fourth, which housed the door, was entirely transparent and must have been made from the strongest glass equivalents SHIELD had access to. Maybe they had some left over from building the Hulk’s containment cell. Waste not, want not.

The door was a little like the ones at Stark Tower, except there were no controls on the inside, so no chance of tampering with this one. The only technology in there (he was not even graced with the remote control for the television) was an intercom with one button to speak to whoever stood outside, and one to speak to whoever was in the monitoring room. That, and a panic button.

That particular button almost came into use when Clint was finally alone and Loki appeared out of nowhere.

“Well, that was tedious. I thought he would never cease his drivelling,” the unwelcome guest stated.

Clint screwed his eyes shut and groaned in frustration, the tiredness of the past few weeks weighing on him. Sleep deprivation made people crazy. Loki in his head and no solid sleep for a month, it was a two for one deal on insanity. Maybe they should just put him in a coma and have Bruce wake him with a kiss when Loki was gone. Or the Hulk. Sleeping Beauty and the Beast. Ha!

_Yeah, okay, definitely sleep deprived. Get your shit together, Barton._

“He did make some interesting points though,” Loki continued. “Residual agenda. I like the way that sounds. It rolls off the tongue.”

Without looking, Clint picked up the only projectile in the room and threw it at the source of the voice. He knew immediately it was pathetic. He let out a desperate laugh. He’d just thrown a pillow at his own hallucination.

There was a pause. Clint could just imagine Loki arching an eyebrow at the dismal attempt.

“Is that the best you can do?” Loki asked, less than impressed as predicted. “I suppose it is, given your current circumstances. Locked up like an animal. Interrogated like an enemy.”

“You’re not real. I’m not having a conversation with you,” Clint announced, to himself more than Loki.

“Well now, that would be a missed opportunity, would it not? Considering all the things I know,” Loki taunted.

Clint looked directly at him for the first time. It was the first time Loki had captured his interest. Clint knew from the angle of the camera than they couldn’t see his lips moving. One question couldn’t hurt.

“What things?”

 _This is a bad idea_.

“So you do wish to talk?” Loki asked petulantly. He paced along the small room. “I’m afraid I might need convincing to part with my secrets since you continue to deny my presence.”

_Do not engage your hallucinations in conversation._

“Screw you,” Clint replied, looking back up at the ceiling. This was a waste of time. Loki wasn’t really standing there to be questioned. He was a figment of his insanity, a side effect, nothing more. He didn’t have any information.

Loki feigned hurt and tutted. “That was uncalled for. Carry on like that and I might not be so accommodating next time.”

“What are you gonna do?” Clint goaded. “Annoy me to death? Appear naked and put me off my food?”

Suddenly, without moving, Loki was by his bedside, his hand around Clint’s neck, fingers crushing his throat. Clint was caught completely off guard.

“You do me a disservice, Barton. I am not harmless.” Loki’s mouth was pulled into a sneer. “Quite the opposite, in point of fact. I can hurt you. I can make you hurt your friends. Who shall it be? The warrior woman? The fearless leader? Or perhaps the man who becomes a monster? You have quite an attachment to him, do you not?”

Clint tried to pry Loki’s fingers from his neck as he choked but they gained no purchase. Black spots appeared across his vision as his breath diminished. “What do you want?” he just managed to choke out.

Loki released his grip. Clint gulped in the air he had been deprived, trying to hold back the coughing fit.

“That is the question. I will let you consider the answers.”

And with that, Clint was alone again.

“Agent Barton, are you alright?” another voice asked.

It took Clint a few moments to realise it was a nurse outside the door. She was holding down the intercom button for him to reply.

“The monitoring team said you were in distress,” she went on.

Clint coughed. “I’m fine,” he said, not sounding it. “Just got something stuck in my throat.”

The nurse looked sceptical but Clint forced himself to recover enough to smile. It was difficult.

“I’ll get you some more water,” the woman replied and disappeared out of sight.

 Somehow Clint didn’t think that water was going to help.

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

When Bruce showed up a half hour later, Clint hadn’t quite recovered from Loki’s attack. There had to be some truth in what Loki had said before – the drugs they had given him during the night had somehow opened a door inside his head, making his hallucinations more intense. But it wasn’t just the fact that Loki could now somehow physically hurt him that scared Clint; it was the brutal reminder that he was dangerous, to himself and everyone else.

With no mirrors, Clint wondered if any bruises had been left behind. Loki obviously didn’t have corporeal form, but the pain had been real enough. Clint had been trying to make out his reflection in the TV when Bruce had turned up. He looked more of a mess than usual; hair unkempt, face unshaven, clothes creased. That and the bags under his eyes told Clint he hadn’t been handling the situation that well.

Clint had forgotten how hard it was to do what he did and have someone like Bruce care about him; _worry_ about him. Bruce was trying to keep things light but the tiredness etched upon his features and the concern behind his eyes was something Clint hated being responsible for.

He hadn’t considered any of this when the idea of him and Bruce had first occurred. Of course he hadn’t, Clint rarely stopped to think about the future. If he had, he might have seen this coming. Not these exact circumstances, of course, but somewhere along the line one of them was bound to get hurt. It was a risk every agent took. The Hulk was impervious to most threats, a fighter by nature, but it was Bruce who was left with the aftermath. He and Clint had only been seeing each other for the past few days and things had already gained an intensity Clint never expected. And now Bruce had to watch as Clint spiralled into magic-induced psychosis. It wasn’t exactly a great advertisement for being on the team. Welcome to the Avengers, where you can risk your life, watch your friends go insane, die or try to kill you! Offer expires when you do!

“I heard you got a new place,” Bruce said when he figured out how to work the intercom. “There’s no gift shop here or I would have bought you a house plant.”

Despite the weight on this shoulders, Clint appreciated the humour. Nobody had treated him like a normal person all day, he’d almost forgotten what it felt like.

“Maybe it’s for the best. I’d probably kill it in my sleep,” Clint replied, then regretted it. “Ah, that wasn’t funny. Sorry. Rough night. And morning, and day. Just in general, really.”

Bruce looked at his shoes, then back up. “I heard. They were interviewing you for hours.”

Clint shifted awkwardly. How much had Bruce heard? Had he been behind that two-way glass? “Felt like longer. Exhilarating stuff,” Clint replied sarcastically, trying to hide his discomfort. “And more fun and games to come later.”

Fury had proposed the plan to try and bring on another blackout before the interviews had started. Clint didn’t care if the option to say no had been an illusion, he still appreciated it. So he’d agreed, even though it didn’t sound like much fun. With Loki digging his claws in, Clint knew there wasn’t much time to solve this thing.

“Yeah. They told me about the experiment,” Bruce said, his brow creased with concern. He clearly wasn’t keen on the idea either. Then he seemed to realise it was poor bedside manner to have doubts about a dangerous experiment. “There are more doctors than ceiling tiles in this place, all dedicated to making you better. I’m sure you’ll be fine,” he added.

Clint laughed at the effort. “You’re a bad liar. You should get some tips from Tasha on that. Might come in handy down the line.”

“Clint…”

Clint apologised again. “Guess I’m not the best company right now.”

“I’ve had worse,” Bruce said light-heartedly. “I once woke after a particularly long hulkout face to face with a black bear. He seemed pretty grouchy.”

“Yeah? What’d you do?” Clint asked.

Bruce shrugged. “I growled and he ran away.”

Clint didn’t buy it.

“Okay, he growled and I ran away,” Bruce admitted. When his goofy smile faded he seemed to remember he had some news. “Natasha told me they’re almost finished testing the other patients. Everybody seems unaffected.”

“Lucky me,” Clint said. “What about the spear? You’ve been working on that, right? Science kick magic’s ass yet?” Clint already knew the answer. If Bruce had found something it would have been the first thing he’d have said.

“Not yet,” Bruce said, confirming his suspicions. “Tony’s still determined. And so am I,” he added as an afterthought. It didn’t exactly fill Clint with hope. “We’ll find something.”

Clint heard footsteps, and was relieved to see Bruce heard them too. It was a nurse bringing a tray of unappealing food. She was accompanied by a security guard. Bruce stepped back to let them reach the door.

“Agent, if you’ll step back from the door I’ll put your lunch on through.”

Clint obliged, despite the minor indignity. When the pair of them had left, Clint scanned the food and decided he wasn’t hungry.

“Looks delicious,” Bruce commented, apparently as unimpressed as Clint. “I’ll uh, leave you to it. Maybe I can come and see you before the… _fun_ starts later?”

“Sure,” Clint answered, though he was far from it – about anything. “Bring a Big Mac?”

Bruce smiled. “I’ll see what I can do.”

As Clint watched Bruce walk away, a chill at his side told him he had company again.

“Sentiment. A burden, if anything,” Loki said. “I think we can take care of that. What would you prefer? To break his heart or break his neck?”

 

End of Chapter Ten


	11. Blue Hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My goodness, this is turning out to be an endurance test! If you're still here, I admire your patience and adore your face. I have the rest of the story planned out so I am not wandering aimlessly, rest assured.

_Break his heart or break his neck._

Clint was loath to even give the ultimatum any serious consideration, but unfortunately all Clint had was time on his hands. With things going from bad to worse, he knew he'd have to make a decision sooner or later, and as much as he tried, he couldn’t fault Loki for logic. The longer the situation went on, the more likely one of the two ‘options’ would come to pass.

The choice, if you could call it that, was obvious. He should finish things, put some distance between himself and Bruce, for both their sakes. It was the right thing to do. Would it break the Doc’s heart? That might have been overstating it, but Clint knew what they had both stumbled onto had the potential to be amazing. If Bruce was as unhappy as Clint was about extinguishing that chance, he would be pretty hurt.

And that was a problem. A large, potentially lethal, _green_ problem.

"Ready to go, Agent?" Wilde asked, derailing Clint's train of thought.

He had almost forgotten about his fun-filled afternoon trip to La La Land.

“Hey, Doc. Come to take me to my doom?” Clint retorted, trying to maintain his sarcastic defence system.

“How about we don’t refer to this carefully calculated medical experiment as your doom, hmm?” Wilde said. “Some of the staff are still on probation, it might rattle their confidence.”

“I don’t think sarcasm is in your job description,” Clint told him. In actually fact Clint appreciated the doctor’s snark – it was a language he was well-versed in – but ‘doom’ just seemed appropriate. Inducing a blackout sounded like a horrendous idea, but they were trained professionals, he supposed. They had to know what they were doing.

“It isn’t,” Wilde replied. “It’s all yours completely free. See, the day is looking up already.”

The security team stood by, poised to act if Clint went postal. Natasha was with them, carrying some shackles. Clint decided to keep the dozen or so inappropriate comments to himself ( _‘Budapest all over again’_ was the first to spring to mind). Natasha nodded by way of greeting. She probably wouldn’t speak to him much until there was less of an audience.

A tense minute or two later, Clint was shuffling awkwardly down the corridor in shackles, trained agents flanking him. Natasha followed behind, no doubt watching him… well, watching him like a hawk. Clint wasn’t sure if it was much of an improvement on being wheeled out on a gurney. Still, they said that variety was the spice of life.

The room was set up with more medical equipment than Clint had ever seen gathered in one place. He thought for a brief moment they’d taken a wrong turn and ended up in storage. It became evident soon enough that it was, in fact, an operating theatre, judging by the small viewing room a few feet above them. From freak show to zoo animal. Again, Clint was undecided as to which was worse. The phrase lesser of two evils sprang to mind – it was becoming a theme of the week.

Clint was secured to another bed, tilted so he could sit up. It took several minutes to attach all the wires and monitoring equipment to his skin. Wilde explained what each one was for but Clint was having a hard time concentrating. He was still trying to think of a way to end things with Bruce. The thought of hurting him was bad enough without the added threat of the Other Guy.

“Pay attention, Barton,” Natasha snapped, slapping his leg lightly.

Clint returned to the room to see Wilde raising an ‘I told you so’ eyebrow and Natasha looking on with her arms folded.

Clint flashed her a grin. “I’ll just copy your notes later.”

Wilde stepped away to talk with some of his medical posse and Natasha moved in closer.

“Where’s your head at?” she asked.

“Isn’t _that_ the million dollar question.”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “You’re gonna be okay. I can tell by your levels of sarcasm.”

“There’s probably a machine here to monitor that too,” Clint muttered, scanning the machinery with dubious eyes. “Seriously, what the hell is this all for?”

“If you’d been listening, you’d know,” Natasha replied.

Clint had walked right into that one. “Touché.”

“If you two are finished catching up, we’re almost ready to begin,” Wilde announced from the other side of the room.

Clint grimaced. He didn’t know what they hoped to achieve by inducing a blackout. Sure, _data_ , was the top answer among doctors and scientists. But data wasn’t a cure. How long would he have to wait for data to turn into a treatment? Would there be anything left by the time they figured it out?

Clint felt his heart break a little when he caught himself looking for Coulson. Sometimes he forgot. He wondered what his former handler would have to say about all this, if any of it would have gone down differently had he been there. Phil would have been the first to know about him and Bruce, that was for sure. How Coulson managed to keep such close tabs on him, he’d never know.

“Are you sticking around?” Clint asked Tasha.

“Yeah. All Loki’s other victims have been released under surveillance. That leaves me free to head up security,” she said, offering a smile.

“I’m honoured,” Clint told her. It was a good call. Natasha knew how Clint fought, she could take him in a fight and she was unendingly vigilant. In fact, the briefing room was one of the few times Clint could remember (even though he couldn’t technically remember it) in which he’d been able to take her weapon from her. Not that they spent much time fighting each other outside of sparring sessions. And when they were sort-of-together-but-not-really.

“It’s almost show time, people!” Wilde announced, clapping. “Non-essential personnel kindly evacuate the room.”

“Is Bruce up there?” Clint asked Tasha before she left. He nodded toward the observation room. From the odd angle his bed was positioned at, he couldn’t quite see into the room.

“I can’t see him yet. Do you want him to be?” Natasha asked in reply, glancing up. She seemed genuinely curious.

“Sure, why not? The more the merrier,” he muttered.

Natasha read him like a book. “I can tell him it’s a security risk if you want,” she offered.

“No. It’s fine. Thanks,” Clint replied. He appreciated the offer but it really didn’t matter if Bruce was watching. It might even make things easier later. If Clint actually recovered from what was about to happen. Since he had no recollection of his previous blackout, he’d almost forgotten there was a possibility that he might not wake up from this one. Roll with the punches, even if the next one might kill you. It was a philosophy Clint had always abided by.

“See you on the other side then,” Tash said before taking her position by the door.

“Show me the footage later, we can do the DVD commentary,” Clint joked, but his anxiety was rising. Everyone had either left the room or stepped back, and suddenly the situation had become a lot more real. Wilde approached him and fiddled with a few buttons on the machine nearest the bed.

“How exactly is this going to happen?” Clint asked. He was ready to pay attention now. “Are there drugs involved? Because I could use some right about now,” he added.

“Nothing so advanced, I’m afraid,” Wilde told him. “Just you, and our very special guest.”

“More special than me? I’m hurt.”

Wilde just smiled and nodded towards the door.

Thor walked in.

“Greetings, Clint Barton.”

Clint felt his breath hitch and his chest tighten. He tried to hide it, though there really was no point. There were so many machines monitoring him, he couldn’t even blink without setting something off.

“Thor. I really should have seen this coming,” Clint laughed nervously but it was difficult keeping himself in check. He realised flipping out was what they were all aiming for, but it was going to be more difficult than Clint imagine giving in to the foreign emotions inside him. It suddenly felt like if he let them in this time, Loki would have him.

Thor approached him almost sheepishly, as if he was apologising with every step. “I met with many victims of my brother’s spite today,” he said. “One did not blink for a disturbing length of time, but none reacted in a troubling manner.”

“Sorry to break your winning streak,” Clint said. It might have occurred to him that for Thor, meeting the people whom his own brother had mindfucked and forced to hurt and kill, was a harrowing experience. But all Clint could think – no, all Clint could _feel_ was hatred rising like bile inside him. He couldn’t even bring himself to look at the approaching God of Thunder.

Thor took a seat on a spindly chair that looked like it should buckle under his weight. It didn’t. “I do not require an apology,” he said. “I know what you are experiencing is not your doing, just as what happened in Tony Stark’s tower was not. Loki is to blame for this.”

“No shit.” Clint couldn’t remember what he’d said during the briefing blackout, but if it was anything like what was going through his head now, it was pretty bad. “He’s got some fucked up feelings about you, big guy.”

“I am aware,” Thor said solemnly. “May I ask you something?”

“Sure, why the hell not.” The dull beeps around him were slowly increasing in speed.

“You feel hatred for me, do you not?” Thor started. “The words you spoke in anger were not yours. They were my brother’s. I am told you were imprinted with more than compliance when Loki used the spear upon you. Something of Loki resides in you. His sentiments. His memories perhaps.”

Clint laughed despite himself. “Yeah, something like that.”

“I know it is asking much from you, Clint Barton. But since my brother will not speak to me, I would hope that you could do so in his place. I wish to understand him, why he acts as he does.”

Clint got the feeling the request wasn’t part of the experiment. He managed to meet Thor in the eye. “I don’t think you can,” he said. “I don’t know what happened to him, I don’t have his memories, just what they left behind. It’s just… darkness. You want reason? Hope? I can’t give it to you. I’m sorry.”

Thor looked crushed. Clint couldn’t bear to see it, and weirdly enough, neither could whatever remnants of Loki were residing in his head.

Thor was silent for a moment. “My father will be troubled to hear of this.”

Clint met his stare. He understood what Thor had to do now. He nodded in understanding.

“He will not speak much of Loki. When I try to guide his thoughts, he makes excuses to leave.”

Clint felt his insides twist into knots of anger, directed at people he shouldn’t know, people he had never met. It was second hand trauma from a life lived worlds away but it felt so real.

“Mother is quiet as well,” Thor continued. “It is a dark time.”

His control was slipping, his senses were falling away. Clint didn’t notice his iron grip his fists had on the bed, nor the dramatic changes in sounds around him.

“But I will not give up. I still believe I can reach Loki. Find something of the child I grew up with still left in him. There is still hope, even if no-one else believes it to be so. I will get my brother back.”

It was the last thing Clint heard.

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

“I’ve used every trick I know – nothin’. It’s embarrassing,” Tony said, clearly even more irritated than he let on. “Sleeping Beauty might actually be dead.”

Bruce rub his eyes under his glasses, then pushed them back up on his nose. He stared at Loki’s spear as if he could suddenly make it spring to life by will power alone. Instead it sat there unchanged, a glorified paperweight, as it had been since losing its power.

“Maybe it drew strength from Loki himself,” Bruce suggested wearily. “Some kind of magical energy we don’t understand.”

“See, that’s what pisses me off. Magic.” Tony spat the word out. “Not fair.”

Bruce knew the feeling. The existence of magic and gods and aliens was a lot for a scientist to take in. Whole new worlds had suddenly burst into the light, ready to explore, and for someone like Tony it was unbearably exciting and frustrating. Magic was just a brand new science they hadn’t figured out yet. Tony wanted all the answers at once. He’d probably gain them quicker than anyone else on the planet, but that wasn’t fast enough. Not for Tony Stark. Bruce had to admire his insatiable curiosity. Bruce wanted to know too. New science meant new possibilities of a cure for himself but they had barely left ground level in terms of discovery.

SHIELD had the spear for days. Bruce and Tony had been let loose upon it for longer than should have been necessary to get _something_ from it. Instead they’d hit dead end after dead end.

“I even had Thor in here trying to float her boat,” Tony continued. “Not even a shiver. If the God of Hammer Time can’t do it, it’s all Loki. Maybe it’s a Frost Giant thing. Fury wasn’t exactly keen on the idea of a day trip across the galaxy though.”

Bruce smirked a little. That made it three Avengers looking to ask (or beat) Loki for help. Maybe they really were getting desperate.

It was by chance Bruce glanced at his watch.

“Damn it, they’re going to start without me,” he cursed. Bruce had never been very good at keeping track of time.

Tony pulled a face. “Barton’s witching hour? Sure you want to be there for that?”

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know, because it’s probably going to be awful?”

Bruce smiled. “That’s why I have to be there.”

“Whatever you say, Doc.”

Bruce took it by inference that Tony wouldn’t be accompanying him. Bruce hadn’t expected him to. He knew Tony cared, even though he didn’t know Clint well. That was enough.

When Bruce arrived at the observation room, Steve was there along with Fury and one or two medical staff. Below he could see Clint, though his bed was angled so he probably couldn’t observe the observers. The room was filled with an array of medical equipment, some of which Bruce recognised, some he didn’t.

Clint looked anxious. Bruce could see it even from this distance. Natasha was by his bedside talking to him. Bruce couldn’t hear what they were saying. Though the intercom was activated, only murmurs drifted over it.

“How is your timeline going?” Bruce asked, sitting next to Steve.

“Yeah, it’s getting there. I still need to talk to a few people. Um… you included,” Steve said, clearing his throat. “Just to confirm what I already have,” he hastened to add.

Bruce had forgotten he was the only alibi Clint had for a few spells of time. Bruce knew it shouldn’t really be awkward to talk about. Steve had the excuse of being from the forties at least. Bruce was just a private person, and he still didn’t know Cap that well. Not that he technically knew Clint all that well either… Bruce wondered what Steve thought about their relationship – what he thought about everything really. They were both out of their comfort zones; something else they shared.

“Whatever I can do to help,” Bruce said.

There wasn’t time to see Clint before the experiment began. Before long, Thor entered the room, his spirit diminished from his mission. Bruce felt bad for him. Not only did he have to hear about his brother’s crimes from the mouths of his victims, now he had to watch as Loki’s wrath continued to affect the team. He wasn’t surprised when Thor asked Clint to help him understand his brother. He was surprised, however, at the coldness of Clint’ answer. The archer was clearly struggling even being in close proximity to Thor, but when he talked about there being no hope, it was as if he wasn’t Clint anymore.

Thor looked heartbroken but continued to talk, this time steering the conversation toward its endgame – testing Clint’s patience to the point where he would black out. Sure enough the machines monitoring Clint’s heart, blood pressure and brainwaves were already reacting to changes as he got angrier. 

Then things got much worse.

Clint’s body went into spasm, like he was having a fit. His fists balled and his toes curled, every muscle in his body tensing. It wasn’t the reaction anyone had been expecting. Urgent beeps sounded from various monitors. Doctors swept in from nowhere, crowding the bed and obscuring Bruce’s view. Both he and Steve stood, helplessly trying to catch a glimpse of what was going on.

Thor was ushered back, next to Natasha, while the doctors worked.

“He shouldn’t be seizing, this doesn’t make any sense!” One of the doctors yelled.

Two of the nurses parted briefly, offering a small window into the chaos.

Then they saw it. Clint’s hand slipped into the pocket of one of the doctors and lifted something from it.

“Did he just…?” Steve asked.

“Yeah,” Bruce replied.

Steve moved to leave, looking to Fury to make sure he understood.

“Step away from Agent Barton, it’s a bluff!” Fury yelled over the intercom, but either it wasn’t loud enough, or the medical staff were too engrossed in their patient’s well-being to take heed. Whatever the reason, they failed to notice Clint’s subtle movement.

Bruce went to follow Steve but Fury stopped him.

“Let the others handle this, Doctor,” he said, holding up a hand in warning.

Bruce understood everything he didn’t say. He was already worked up. Going into that room would only serve to intensify things and that would only serve to worsen the situation. As difficult as it was, Bruce stayed behind.

He watched as Natasha drew a stun gun from her belt and covered the door.

He watched as Clint managed to get his arm free and plunge a scalpel into a doctor’s shoulder.

He listened as Clint bellowed to be let free, spitting vile words like he meant them.

He watched as Thor and Cap tried to subdue him as he struggled.

By some mercy, one of the nurses managed to stab a needle into Clint’s thigh. Six or seven people, including three Avengers, held him down until he stopped moving, and for a long while after that to make sure it wasn’t a second bluff.

The injured doctor was whisked away, thankfully still on his feet. Clint was out cold. The chaos finally quelled, Bruce sat down. He remained there until he could move again.

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

Clint woke up (which was a pleasant surprise) with a pounding head and several wary doctors and nurses surrounding him. It might have been his imagination but they seemed to take a simultaneous step back when he opened his eyes, like they were performing some kind of country dance routine. Everything was a blur for the next thirty minutes or so. Clint suspected they had given him something to knock him out, which wasn’t a good sign. He waited patiently for someone to tell him what had happened, or for his head to clear enough that he could ask.

As it happened, both happened at around the same time. Natasha stepped up to the plate to brief him. ‘Smooth’ was not a word that appeared in her telling. Breaking free from restraints, stabbing a doctor, more awfulness to add to the guilt Clint had been stockpiling. He felt numb. The wounded doctor was recovering, and no-one was killed – it was a bad day when these were the facts Clint was meant to be thankful for.

It had been four hours since he’d been knocked out with whatever drugs they’d pumped into him. As if proving a point, Loki had been leaning against the wall throughout the conversation. The asshole said nothing, simply smirked. The drugs had let him in again. Was he going to be a permanent fixture until Clint went totally catatonic? Did it matter in long run?  When Bruce arrived with an apologetic half-smile, Loki disappeared, answering one question at least.

Clint was on the edge of a cliff, and his only options seemed to be jump or get pushed. The choice was a bad one, but there was no doubt in his mind now about what he had to do.

“Give us a minute?” Clint asked Natasha.

The Russian nodded but Clint caught the quick check of his restraints before leaving. It seemed no-one was immune to the mistrust that had spawned from his actions. Clint knew she was just doing her job, but it still stung a little.

“Hey,” Bruce said after Natasha gave them some space.

“Hey,” Clint replied, steeling himself for the conversation that had to happen.

“Sorry I didn’t come and see you before. I lost track of time,” Bruce told him. He stood closer than anyone had since Clint had woken up. Perhaps it was his unique understanding of having a monster inside, or his naivety. Perhaps both.

“Don’t worry about it,” Clint said. “Were you there?” He wasn’t stalling for time, just… warming up.

“Yeah,” Bruce replied ruefully. “It wasn’t your fault; what happened,” he said. “I know you won’t believe me; I never do when people tell me what the Hulk’s done. But it’s true.”

Clint appreciated the effort but he almost wished Bruce would stop being so damn nice - it was making this too hard. “Thanks.”

“Doctor Wilde showed me some of the data they collected,” Bruce told him optimistically. “They have a lot to work with now. It’s promising.”

“I think it’s best we just call it quits,” Clint said, the words suddenly falling out of his mouth, like his head wanted to get rid of them.

Bruce stopped. “What… quit trying to help you?” he asked, understandably confused at the sudden change of topic.

“No. Us,” Clint clarified. “I think we should call _us_ quits.”

There, it was out. If it felt like a weight had been lifted, which was quickly replaced by a heavier one. The moment was engulfed in silence. It was hard to tell what was going through Bruce’s head. For the longest time he didn’t appear to react at all.

When he did, “Oh,” was all he said.

After that he didn’t speak for another long while. Clint hadn’t expected this. Denial, anger, sorrow, even an appearance from the Hulk wasn’t outside the realm of expectation, but nothing? Nothing he hadn’t expected. The silence lasted so long that more words came tumbling past Clint’s lips just to fill it.

“It’s just with everything else going on, I can’t… deal with this. You. Us,” Clint explained – or tried to. Damn it, he wasn’t supposed to be so bad at this. He could shoot a moving target out of the air without looking, he could do _this._

“I appreciate that you’re trying to help, but it’s not necessary.” Clint continued, trying to remember why he was doing this, trying to pretend it was just a mission, a necessary evil. “We’ve only been in this thing a few days. I don’t expect you to… I don’t expect anything from you. You don’t owe me anything.”

Bruce was still quiet. “You really feel that way?” he said finally. His face was frustratingly unreadable.

Clint sighed. He needed to put another nail in the coffin. “It wasn’t fair to you to start this in the first place. I just thought it might be a distraction or something. I don’t know.”

Bruce physically recoiled. “A distrac… Right. No, sure. You went to bed with me, despite the risk of having your limbs ripped off by the Hulk because you wanted a _distraction_?” Bruce’s tone was level but anger was seeping through it.

This had been more like the reaction Clint had been expecting. It was horrible to witness. Not because he feared the Hulk, but because he was hurting Bruce.

“If it hadn’t been you, I’d have probably found someone else.” Clint almost winced at his own words.

There was an ache behind Bruce’s eyes as he glared in disbelief at what he was hearing.  “I don’t believe you,” he said, almost whispered.

Clint wasn’t sure if Bruce was seeing through his charade or finally doubting his character.

“Look, I took it too far,” Clint said. “I’m an asshole, you were bound to find out sooner or later. Now you’re ahead of the game.”

The scientist ran both his hands through his hair, looking like his fight or flight response was in flux as he wavered between leaving and staying.

“I’m sorry,” Clint said, truly meaning it but trying to sound like he didn’t.

“Yeah, so am I,” Bruce returned, answering Clint’s question. He shook his head and left without another word.

Clint didn’t watch him leave.

“You chose well,” Loki said, appearing in the chair beside him. “That was definitely more fun than breaking his neck.”

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

Bruce hadn’t expected it. That had been the crux of the past few days, really. He hadn’t expected any of it. Joining the Avengers, making a timid peace with the Hulk to save the day, finding a place in the world, starting a relationship, then watching it start to crumble because of some cruel twist of fate. A twist of fate was bad enough, Bruce was used to those. But when Clint said he wanted to end it, that he should have never started it, that it was just a distraction, a mistake that should never have happened – Bruce hadn’t expected that.

With a few sentences Clint had reduced what they’d had to nothing but a fling, a fling he could have had with anyone. Every moment they’d spent together rushed through Bruce’s head. The playfulness, the flirting, the attraction, it all fit. A distraction. Nothing more than that. Except Bruce _knew_ it had been more than that, or at least he thought he did. It had moved on, developed, hadn’t it? Clint had said so himself, there was something there worth going for, and he’d gone for it. Had that all been an act? A game? Did Bruce really believe Clint could be that cruel? It crushed him to realise that it was a possibility. This could be a behaviour pattern for all he knew. When it came down to it, Bruce didn’t really know Clint at all.

He could feel anger rising up inside him as he got further away from the room.

“Bruce? Are you alright?” Natasha called after him.

He wasn’t.

Bruce waved a hand behind him to dismiss her. He was trying to hold it together, but to do that he really needed to be alone. Which was unfortunate, since Natasha had left her post and was following him down the corridor. Veering into somewhere she might not follow, he ducked into the men’s room and found the sink, splashing his face with water. The Hulk wanted to take over, but Bruce knew he couldn’t let him. In an underground facility, angry at an Avenger, at Clint, it was a recipe for disaster. He could contain the Hulk. He had to.

He heard the door swing slowly open behind him, but he didn’t turn around. It shut again. Bruce could hear Natasha speak softly outside.

“Be advised we have a potentialCode Green in progress in sector C. I repeat, _potential_ Code Green in sector C. Containment teams prep for incident but steer clear of sector. All personnel advised to steer clear of sector. Doc’s trying to ride it out. Romanoff out.”

Bruce had never been more appreciative of some space.

 

End of Chapter Eleven

 


	12. Dance With the Devil

Bruce wasn’t sure how much time had passed since he’d been on his way to a ‘Code Green’ as Natasha had called it. He had calmed down considerably since Clint had told him whatever they’d had had been a mistake. It had hurt, but truth be told, it was nothing Bruce hadn’t already feared in the depths of his mind. He’d let the newfound happiness and sense of belonging intoxicate him to a dangerous degree, and he’d let his judgement slip.

It was destined for trouble from the start. Not just Clint, but joining the Avengers. Maybe this wasn’t the place for him after all.

Knowing he couldn’t hide forever, Bruce had left the men’s room confident the threat of the Other Guy had gone. Natasha had been waiting outside but Bruce hadn’t felt much like talking. He briefly assured her that she could call off the response teams and that he was going to meditate for a while just to be safe. The past two weeks had been crazy and he’d let his rituals slip as well as his judgement. She had nodded in understanding and let him go. Bruce found a quiet unused room and remained there for a long while.

“Dr. Banner? Sorry to disturb your meditation…”

Bruce had been under pretty deep when Steve came calling. He briefly wondered if they had drawn straws to decide who would be the one to fetch him – before Steve no doubt volunteered.

“Oh, hi,” Bruce said, shaking off the drowsiness. “Don’t worry about it. And you can call me Bruce if you like. We did stop two alien invasions together.”

“Right. Bruce.” Steve smiled now that the hard part was over. “We’re due for an update in about a half hour. I’ve almost finished my timeline on Barton’s movements, I just need your input.”

Bruce stood up and stretched his back and Steve walked further into the room. He was carrying a file and a pencil. Bruce moved to stand next to him while he opened it. Inside was a carefully hand drawn chart, like a calendar with dates and times. It had shaded blocks and names scribbled down within them.

“These areas are where someone can confirm Clint’s location,” Steve explained, “or where he was captured on camera, used his access card and so on. The blank areas still need someone to uh…”

“Provide an alibi?” Bruce offered.

“Something like that. Are there any you can fill in?”

Bruce was pleased Steve had found a polite way to ask, and a polite way for him to answer. “May I?” he asked, referring to the pencil.

Steve obliged.

Bruce took a few minutes to make sure he shaded in all the areas where he knew he and Clint had been together. When he was finished he looked worriedly at the table. There were a lot of blank spaces, mostly from late evening to early morning.

Steve was just as troubled. “That’s a lot of time unaccounted for.”

“He could have just been sleeping. He has been having nightmares as well as the blackouts,” Bruce said, trying hopefully to alleviate his own worry as much as Steve’s.

“Ten nights,” Steve surmised. “I think we have to assume the worst and hope for the best.”

So that’s what Bruce did. All the way to the lab where Tony was working, he assumed the worst. Hoping for the best was the difficult part.

“Anything to report?” Bruce asked, not expecting anything resembling good news.

When Tony threw his pad across the room in reply, he suspected he was right in his assumption. The pad broke into half a dozen pieces, causing a few SHIELD employees to look over, but they didn’t look long. They’d seen plenty worse temper tantrums.

“We knew this was a long shot,” Bruce said by way of comfort. It was difficult to admit, but he had made his peace with it. It was time to move on. Something told him Tony wasn’t going to accept defeat so easily.

“There must be something we haven’t tried.” Tony braced himself on the table and hung his head. Bruce imagined if Tony’s head was a house, he’d be ransacking it.

Bruce sighed. “We’ve tried everything, every power source we can think of to get it started. Even if it drew its power from the tesseract, it’s offworld. We can’t get it back. Thor’s stuck here and so are we.”

“I can’t believe that son of bitch is still messing with us,” Tony said. “The fight’s over, we should be licking our wounds and moving on. The wounds aren’t supposed to get bigger.”

Bruce was a little taken aback. Tony was rarely so forthright about his feelings. It was a little disconcerting to see behind the mask, but it reminded Bruce that there was more to him than bravado.

“Even if we could get the tesseract back, using it would be unthinkably dangerous,” Bruce said. “The spear was a nice idea at the time, but now I think it’s wasting it.”

“I don’t know how else to help,” Tony said, raising his voice more than he intended to. The out of character anger invited silence to the moment. Tony hung his head.

“Me neither,” Bruce admitted solemnly. “You should go and eat something. Get some sleep. Have you had a break since we started?”

“I don’t know,” Tony admitted. “Alright. I could use a shower, I guess. Maybe I’ll think of something,” he mumbled to himself.

“There's a briefing in a half hour. See you then?”

“Yeah.”

Tony left as Natasha entered. She turned to watch him leave, a hint of confusion on her face. It was probably the absence of snarky comment or trademark grin that Tony normally came with. She looked to Bruce for an explanation.

“I don’t think Tony takes defeat very well.”

“Ah,” Natasha said. “I take it the spear is a no go.”

“Yeah,” Bruce said, picking up the larger pieces of Tony’s pad from the floor. “It was a long shot.”

Natasha crouched down to help. “I know you tried your best. But we’re not done yet. It wasn’t our only lead,” she said.

“I know,” Bruce replied. “Hey, I never said thank you for not… for the space, earlier.”

Natasha smiled and stood. “No problem. Do you wanna talk about it?”

For some reason Bruce was surprised by the offer. Was that the reason she had stopped by? From everything he knew about Natasha - which was actually very little – there weren’t many people she would make a similar offer to. Bruce felt his sense of belonging grow a little.

“It’s under control now, thanks,” he assured.

“That’s not what I meant,” Natasha said. “Clint’s not exactly himself lately. The things he said to Thor were awful but he didn’t mean them. Whatever he said to you…”

Bruce realised Natasha had the wrong end of the stick, that she assumed Clint had been taken over by Loki’s spell. Bruce almost wished it was that cut and dry.

“Oh… no, he didn’t… it wasn’t like that. He uh…” Bruce suddenly felt like it was a stupid thing to get so upset about. Having to say it out loud made it seem ridiculous. He was supposed to have control over the Other Guy and he’d almost hulked out in an underground military base, a base full of his colleagues and friends because he got _dumped_. This was precisely why he didn’t start relationships. Bruce could have sarcastically slow-clapped himself.

“We broke up I guess,” he finally, sheepishly, explained.

Natasha took the revelation in her stride. “Oh,” she said.

Bruce sighed and stood up, putting the broken pieces into the bin. “It shouldn’t have been a huge surprise,” he said, trying to sound like he’d made his peace with it. He hadn’t. “I guess I knew it was a mistake too.”

“Is that what he told you?” Natasha asked.

Bruce nodded.

Natasha bit her lip. She looked lost in thought for a moment. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I actually thought you two were good together.”

The statement had sounded strange coming from Tony; it sounded very strange coming from Natasha. “Really?” Bruce asked. He found it hard to believe, and must have said so in his tone.

“Maybe not at first,” Natasha admitted. “But yeah. I know Clint. I know you a little more than I did two weeks ago. From what I’ve seen over the past few days,” she shrugged, “you fit.”

Bruce thought for a moment. Natasha did know Clint, a lot better than he did. Did that mean she already knew everything that Clint had told him? Her words and tone didn’t seem to suggest anything like that, but she was difficult to read.

“I thought so too for a minute there,” Bruce said. “Apparently I was way off.”

Natasha tilted her head and considered him for a moment. “You know, for a nuclear physicist, you’re pretty dumb.”

Bruce had not expected that. “Excuse me?”

Natasha pushed herself up onto his workstation and folded her hands. She paused for a moment, trying to find the right way to start. “Clint’s in a bad place right now. He doesn’t see a way out of this; he thinks he’s going to lose his mind while everyone he cares about watches. That includes you.”

Natasha must have deemed from the look on Bruce’s face that it warranted further explanation.

“Clint might start things on a whim,” she continued, “but if they turn out to be worth it, he’ll stick. He already decided you’re worth it.”

“He said…”

“Forget what he said. It was bullshit, I guarantee.”

“How do you know that?” Bruce asked, unconvinced.

“Like I said, I know _him_. I know what he’s trying to do. But believe me, I see it in the way he looks at you, how he acts around you. The stupid little giddy walk he has when he talks about you,” she said, rolling her eyes. “It’s obvious. To me, anyway. Clint’s got it bad for you, Bruce.”

Bruce desperately wanted to believe her, but all his insecurities were whispering that it was a cruel trick. “So… why would he push me away?” he asked cautiously.

“Why do you think?” Natasha replied. “He cares about you,” she repeated, as if she was waiting for a light bulb to come on.

After a moment a thought did occur to Bruce. “He’s trying to make it easier,” he said slowly, speaking the words as they came into his head. It seemed well within Clint’s character, or at least the character Bruce had built a picture of. It was certainly a more believable explanation for the uncaring way he had so coldly dismissed their relationship…

Natasha hopped off the workstation. “Right.”

“He was pretty convincing,” Bruce said, doubt still clinging on.

Natasha smirked. “He’s a good liar. Not as good as me but... the point is he’s scared right now and he’s starting to give up,” she said, the briefest tinge of sadness slipping into her words. “He’s cutting ties.”

“Did he break up with you too?” Bruce realised the awkward phrasing of the question as soon as he uttered it. “I… I meant, I didn’t mean it like that…”

Natasha laughed, which was one of the better reactions he could have hoped for.

“It’s okay, I know what you meant,” she said. “No. He hasn’t tried to push me away yet. I know his tricks. You on the other hand, have a few things to learn if you’re going to stick around.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow. Natasha seemed so sure he was going to stick around and it was at that moment Bruce realised he wanted to.

“What should I do?”

“Help him fight,” Natasha told him. “Give him a reason to.”

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

Bruce waited all of ten minutes before going to see Clint. A thought had occurred, and almost drowned in the thousands of other thoughts cluttering his brain, but swam to the surface after the conversation with Natasha.

_Help him fight._

It was obvious, now he’d thought about it. Science and medicine were the two main contenders that were vying to solve Clint’s problem, but they weren’t the only ones. Bruce was going to help Clint fight the best way he knew how. It had just taken a while to realise what that was.

Clint was back in his secure room, staring at the ceiling, when Bruce knocked on the door. Clint looked mildly confused when he sat up and saw who it was. Bruce didn’t bother waiting for him to get up. He was still on a rush from the recent revelations and planned on using the energy productively rather than fret for three hours before making a decision. He’d done enough worrying over the last week; over the past lifetime in fact. So when he held down the intercom button, Bruce just started talking.

“Look. I don’t know if what you said to me earlier was true or not,” he began. “It doesn’t really matter. If this – if _I_ – was just a distraction then… fine. I can handle it. It doesn’t change the fact that I care about you.” Bruce exhaled, a weight lifted. “And I’m going to help you.”

When Bruce managed to bring himself to look at Clint to gauge his reaction, it was a mixture of confusion and curiosity, topped with something else Bruce couldn’t identify. Surprise? Bewilderment? It certainly seemed like he hadn’t been expecting the particular revelation. He’d stayed on the bed for the mini speech, but now he was up and approaching the door.

“Bruce, I…”

Bruce wasn’t quite ready to hear anything from Clint just yet, and cut him off. “It took me a while to realise it, but I am uniquely qualified to help you. Not with the spear or my frankly lacklustre medical skills but because of who I am,” he said, finally making eye contact. “I have a monster in my head, and so do you. I spent years learning how to control mine. I think I can teach you some of the things I taught myself; to keep control, to stop it taking over.”

“You mean, like meditation?” Clint asked, not dismissive or doubtful but intrigued. Hopeful, even.

“That’s part of it,” Bruce confirmed. “It’s mental training. It’s not a cure-all, but it could help you until we find another way out.”

Clint met his gaze. “You’d do that for me? After I…”

Bruce let out a breath. “Like I said, I care about you, like it or not,” he said, as assertive and matter-of-factly as he could muster. It was a fact, after all. Even after Clint’s cold words, before Natasha had given him an alternate theory, Bruce hadn’t stopped caring. “So, do you want to do this or not?”

Bruce saw something in Clint’s face that he hadn’t realised was missing. Hope.

“Yeah,” he said. “Let’s do it.”

So it was settled. Bruce was going to help Clint fight. As for the giving him a reason to, well, maybe they could work on that.

 

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Seeing as they didn’t really need any equipment, Bruce saw no reason why they couldn’t start straight away. Bruce had intended to keep things straightforward, explain the techniques he used to control the Hulk and teach Clint how to employ them in his own mind. But it felt wrong somehow, like teaching a language without explaining the meaning behind the words. So Bruce ended up talking about his own struggle, more than he intended to. He was surprised how easy it was to open up to Clint, who listened intently to every word.

Clint had grabbed a pillow from the bed and sat cross-legged on the floor. Bruce sat opposite, the two of them separated by the glass door. Occasionally questions would slip out of Clint’s mouth quite suddenly, though he seemed more interested in learning about Bruce than about tackling his own situation.

When Bruce intermittently remembered there was supposed to be a purpose to the conversation, he steered it back on track but it didn’t seem to last long before they were back to more personal discussion. Both parties were to blame for this fact, Bruce decided. Soon Bruce was returning Clint’s questions, and it was Clint doing the talking. He talked about his family, the orphanage, the circus, even started talking about Natasha before deciding that story could probably wait for another day.

After an hour (maybe two, Bruce had lost track), the pair had learned more about each other than they had since the day they met.

It was after Bruce spoke about how he had internal conversations with the Hulk that Clint revealed something about what was going on in his head.

“I see him,” Clint said, like the small words were a dark secret to be ashamed of.

“Loki?” Bruce asked, though he knew the answer. He remembered Clint talking about the hallucinations briefly when he was being interviewed.

Clint nodded. “Round here. A couple of times back at the Tower.” Clint shifted uncomfortably. “You probably already read the report, right?”

“I did,” Bruce said. “But why don’t you tell me about it?”

“It started out just corner of the eye stuff, scaring the crap out of me. That was why I almost put an arrow through your head by the way.” He shrugged.

“I did wonder,” Bruce said. The incident felt like it was months ago, but the mention of it did spring vivid recollection in Bruce’s memory. Though he didn’t want to scare away this newfound honesty, there was a question Bruce wanted to know the answer to. Dr. Barber had asked it during the interview but Clint’s answer didn’t seem to satisfy.

“Does he talk to you?” Bruce asked after it was

“Not at first,” Clint said. “Now he doesn’t shut up.”  Clint rubbed his eyes, tiredness evident on his features. “He even…” Clint stopped himself, a trace of fear halting whatever admission was about to occur in its tracks. He idly stroked his neck and looked down.

Bruce held back pushing for more. It seemed like if he did, Clint would close up. Instead, Bruce decided to give him a break. “It’s getting late,” he said, glancing at his watch. After a double take, he realised it had been an understatement. “I think we should both get some sleep.”

Clint looked relieved. He uncrossed his legs and attempted to stand, wobbling a little in the process. Bruce might have been worried if he hadn’t done exactly the same thing when he attempted to stand. Sitting on a cold, hard floor for hours tended to make ones’ limbs go to sleep. Both men laughed at their efforts.

“Listen, Bruce, I appreciate you doing this. Especially after...” Clint trailed off, probably thinking it would probably taint the moment to mention their previous conversation. “It was nice to forget about the cell for a while,” he said instead.

“We’re gonna get you out of it soon enough,” Bruce replied. He met Clint in the eyes and for a moment forgot himself.

“I’ll come back tomorrow and we’ll go through those pranayama breathing techniques I mentioned,” Bruce asserted after clearing his throat, “and there are a few other things we can start working on.”

“Right,” Clint said, apparently also lost in the moment. “I’ll be here.”

Bruce shuffled awkwardly, the phrase ‘good night’ apparently deleted from his repertoire.

“Night, Doc,” Clint said.

Ah, there it was. “Good night, Clint.”

 

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Clint hadn’t expected visitors, least of all Bruce. After their difficult conversation and since overhearing about the Code Green (and didn’t that just make Clint feel all kinds of fantastic), he hadn’t expected to see Bruce again for some time.

But as it turned out, Bruce was a pretty surprising guy in more ways than one. He’d marched right back into Clint’s life with not only the admission that he still cared, but offering to help with personal expertise. Meditation and mental training, coming from the guy who kept the Hulk at bay actually sounded like a pretty decent avenue to explore. It wasn’t guesswork or experiments; it was tried and tested research on Bruce Banner, by Bruce Banner. _Uniquely qualified_.

It had entered Clint’s mind, of course, that accepting Bruce’s help might be dangerous. After all, it was arguably reneging on Loki’s ultimatum. But since the stab-happy incident earlier, Clint figured it would be a while before they let him out again and as long as there was a door between them, Bruce would be safe. If it worked, if he could mentally subdue Loki, the problem would be half solved anyway. Besides, it was a professional arrangement. Bruce would have done it for any of the other Avengers, he was sure.

These were the things Clint told himself to justify the risk. But when they started, it became apparent very quickly that things weren’t so black and white. They had talked for hours. Really _talked_. Clint didn’t know where it had all come from, but it had been so easy, so comfortable, on both sides. It was the opposite of what Clint had been trying to achieve when he attempted to break it off. Instead of pushing Bruce away they had somehow become closer. So much for the best-laid plans.

The moment Clint knew he was in real trouble was when he admitted to his and Loki’s ‘chats’. Not because Bruce might pass the information on, but due to the simple fact that Clint had given up the information so freely; without being asked or interrogated. It still hadn’t been an easy thing to admit, and he had stopped short of mentioning the physical turn of Loki’s visits, but the very fact Bruce disarmed him enough to reveal even that much was bad news. There was no point denying it any longer. Clint was falling for Bruce Banner.

“Well, isn’t that sweet.”

Clint had been expecting this visit. He had been doing sit-ups when Loki finally arrived, this time lying on his bed.

“I don’t know which more endearing,” Loki began, “your futile attachment to such an odd creature or thinking you can oust me with his pitiable mind tricks.”

“Complain all you want, really, I love hearing it,” Clint said sarcastically. “You’re just making me believe it’s going to work.” He continued with his workout in an attempt to reinforce his disinterest in what Loki had to say.

“I must say, I am confused by the notion. That you would try to send me away, when it was you who invited me in the first place,” Loki said, some hidden agenda planted obviously in his words.

“Whatever that means, bite me,” Clint replied succinctly.

“Haven’t you been wondering?” Loki asked. “The answer to that question you humans love to ask yourselves? ‘ _Why me_?’”

Clint stopped. He would by lying if he denied wanting to know, but if Loki was offering the answer it on a plate, it was unlikely to be something he was going to want to hear. He recalled the hazy memory during his mental imprisonment.

 _You understand, do you not?_ Loki had said. _I am sorry for that. It was not my intention_.

Clint had thought about that, about what it could mean. What was it Loki had not intended? Clint had a working theory. The ‘understanding’ Loki mentioned could only have referred to the emotional baggage that Clint had taken aboard. It was possible it was a side effect from the spear that Loki hadn’t foreseen. Maybe the reason no-one else had been affected was because Clint was the first one Loki had used the spear on, and he’d got it wrong. But if this theory had any weight behind it, if Loki made a mistake, why would he be offering up an explanation?

Despite his better judgement, Clint found himself standing up and facing up to Loki, his curiosity piqued. “Alright. Tell me,” he said. “Why, out of all the people you mindfucked, did you stick around in my head?”

An insidious grin spread across Loki’s face. “Because you let me.”

Clint recoiled. “Bullshit. You said you made a mistake, that you didn’t mean for me…”

Loki cut him off. “Your little theory was correct. I underestimated the spear’s power initially. A connection I had not intended was made, but that only left a doorway. An echo of me that could have been easily left to fade away. Instead you unlocked the door and invited me in with open arms.”

“You’re lying,” Clint spat, but a terrible doubt had started to rise within him.

“You know I am not,” Loki said, delighting in the other man’s turmoil. He moved from the bed to stand in front of Clint, the smile never leaving his face. “Why you? Because you needed me. Your pathetic conscience could not handle the weight of the people you killed in my name. You craved a reason for those deaths. You wanted to understand why they died.” Loki’s voice was now a sinister whisper. “You wanted to understand _me._ ”

Clint’s anger took over and he pushed forward, wanting to physically reject the lies Loki was telling, but his hands connecting with nothing but air. Stumbling forward, he caught himself before toppling over.

Loki laughed from behind him. “So here I am, by invitation only.”

Clint calmed his breathing, angry that he let his composure slip. “It doesn’t matter,” he said, trying to believe it. “It doesn’t matter if it’s true. You’re gonna leave either way.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps when you're minutes from death and I have grown weary of you, I may leave the miserable confines of your head. But believe me when I say, a lot more people are going to die before that happens.”

 

End of Chapter Twelve


	13. Therapy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've outlined the last few chapters so if all goes to plan it will be 18 chapters in total. I reserve the right to completely mess that up though!

One week had passed since Bruce and Clint had started having meditative sessions. After their first conversation, Bruce had informed Fury about the plan to help Clint with mental training. The Director was generally optimistic about the idea, though somewhat surprised that Clint had already agreed to it. Fury apparently didn’t think Clint was the meditating type. The truth was Bruce had been a little surprised himself. Not because of the nature of the plan, but because of their tenuous relationship status. Bruce deliberately didn’t accuse Clint of bullshitting the break-up; what he’d said to Clint was true, it didn’t matter. If Clint needed to think ending their relationship was the safest thing to do, Bruce would play along.

So without saying anything else about the matter, they pretended. Clint put up a pretty poor show of being the ‘asshole’ he’d claimed to be, but Bruce suspected it was far too taxing to keep up. Besides, they both knew it was a lie. Their sessions had been going exceptionally well. Bruce was surprised how quickly Clint took to the mental training, due largely in part to his renewed determination. He was even meditating on his own between sessions, and when the doctors weren’t calling him out for various tests. There had been no more blackouts. The nightmares had continued but to a lesser degree. More importantly, Loki had not made an appearance for two days. Signs were good.

Steve’s investigation into Clint’s whereabouts during his suspected blackouts hadn’t yielded anything concrete. They’d found no threats at Stark Tower or at any of the bases he could have conceivably visited. The best guess was that he’d been doing some kind of reconnaissance and whatever Loki’s endgame was, it hadn’t had a chance to evolve. There were still unanswered questions, and SHIELD remained on alert to any suspicious findings, but for the time being there was nothing else they could do.

The other Avengers had a few missions off base, some together, some separately – some halfway round the world – but they always returned, checking in periodically and asking how they could help. Thankfully the Hulk hadn’t been needed too far away from Clint’s temporary accommodation and he hadn’t missed any of their appointments. Natasha brought Clint a plastic bow and arrow and a paper target because she was worried about him getting ‘withdrawal’. Bruce thought it was in poor taste but Clint seemed to think it was funny. Unfortunately security wouldn’t allow it in the cell, since it could be used as a weapon – which Clint found even funnier. Bruce found the sound of Clint’s laughter the best sign of all that he was on the road to recovery.

Thor had even been to see him on a couple of supervised occasions, both of which were difficult but went by without serious incident. Things were looking up, or at least Bruce thought they were.

“Morning,” Bruce greeted, slightly late for their morning session.

“Hey, Doc,” Clint sighed. His manner seemed less enthusiastic than the last time Bruce saw him.

“Sorry I’m late. How was your night?” Bruce asked while unrolling the rug he liked to sit on during the meditation.

Clint sat down on his own mat – one of the few things they had allowed him to have in his cell. “Fine.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Good. Just going stir crazy, I guess. Three hundred channels, four walls and nothing going on, you know?” Clint said. “But enough about me,” he dismissed, trying to brush it off, but Bruce knew better. “What went down in France?”

“How did you know about that?” Bruce asked.

“CNN knows, come on,” Clint replied sardonically.

There had been a HYDRA reprise in Paris but it was really too small an operation to warrant the Avengers’ presence. It had been a little embarrassing, truth be told, and Bruce was annoyed at being dragged across the Atlantic for something the French special forces could have probably handled. Still, the cameras had been on them so they’d made quick work of the operation, smiled for some photos (mostly Tony’s work) and come home again.

“It was overkill, let’s leave it at that,” Bruce said. He hadn’t mentioned it because it had been of little consequence but he could see how Clint might see if differently.

“You guys are doing okay without me, huh?” Clint said, a little dejected.

“Hey, don’t do that,” Bruce chastised.

“Sorry,” Clint replied, holding his hands up by way of apology. “Sorry I missed it. You and me in Paris?” he smiled. “I mean, I hate French food but we could have had some fun.” Clint caught himself, realising what he’d just said. “Sorry. I just meant… never mind. We should get started.”

Bruce just stared for a brief moment. Though they’d both become used to pretending, sometimes one of them would slip up, forgetting the unspoken deal they’d brokered with one another. They’d steered clear of the topic of their relationship over the past week, but Bruce knew they were just spiralling inevitably towards it. Every day saw them getting closer despite whatever intentions either of them had.

Bruce knew it was hypocritical to think Clint should keep a clear head when it was all he could do some sessions to not stare when Clint’s eyes were closed; to study the lines of his body, the contours of his face, wishing the door between them would disappear. It was more than lust now, he knew that. It felt like Clint knew it too.

But the door remained and Clint shied away from the subject once again. Back to pretending. Bruce regained his composure and began the session.

Halfway through working on compartmentalisation, Bruce had the beginnings of an idea; one that could get him into a lot of trouble, but for all the right reasons.

 

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Clint lay back on the bed, lost in thought, paying no attention to the home shopping channel he’d put on an hour ago for background noise. A part of him hoped it was pissing Loki off. Clint could probably recite the sales pitch word for word by now. If he couldn’t be an Avenger again, maybe he could have a job selling semi-precious gems.

He realised he was flexing his fingers again. They missed the grip of his bow. He ached to hold it again; it had become such a part of him that way. Clint knew when he could lay his hands upon it again that he’d be free from this ordeal.

It was getting better. As the week drew on, his head was getting clearer. Bruce’s training was working, or at least it appeared to be. Loki hadn’t shown up for two days. The nightmares were still lingering but Clint found coping with them was easier now. It was difficult to keep from getting optimistic. Of course it could be a trick, another of Loki’s mindfucks – a long con this time to really cut deep - but it didn’t feel like it.

There was still danger, and Clint couldn’t afford to forget that, but the time he and Bruce spent together had switched on a light at the end of the proverbial tunnel. Not only for getting Loki out of his head but for them, too.

He could deny it all he liked, Clint knew he’d fallen in the deep end when it came to Bruce. Bruce had seen right through him (with a little help from Natasha, he suspected) and if he hadn’t, the slip about Paris should have done it. He’d forgotten for a moment - forgotten they weren’t together, that they hadn’t been together for months, years even, because that’s what it felt like when they talked. New and old at the same time. Their sessions were what kept Clint going. He had other visitors, of course, everyone came to see him most days, but Bruce was…

Clint shook the train of thought out of his head. It was futile to waste time thinking about it. Despite the progress he’d made, Clint knew that until there was a way to determine Loki’s presence or absence from his head, Fury wouldn’t let him rejoin the Avengers. Maybe even keep him in the cell indefinitely. Was there any point to torturing himself thinking about being with Bruce again? It wasn’t like Fury was going to allow conjugal visits… Clint smirked despite himself. He must have been feeling better for a thought like that to sneak up on him.

Clint half expected Loki to appear and make a threat or laugh at how ‘pathetic’ sentimentality was, but he didn’t come. Two days without a visit had been peaceful, but it hadn’t quite gotten to the point where Clint could relax just yet. One of their last conversations still rang in his head.

_‘You wanted to understand me.’_

Clint didn’t know if Loki had been lying when he’d explained with putrid delight why he’d stuck around _. By invitation only._ It made a sick kind of sense, Clint had to admit. But coupled with the vague threat of more deaths before Loki would get out of his head, it only made him seem like a stubborn child who didn’t want to leave the toy store at closing time. A possessed child with serious daddy issues, maybe, but a child nonetheless. It helped Clint to see him like that, and Bruce had admitted he did the same with the Hulk sometimes.

It was fascinating to hear Bruce talk about his alter ego. From the first moment he’d heard the whispers of a man who turned into a monster to the first time he’d been presented with Bruce’s file, Clint had wondered about who he was. Now he was finding out and falling in l… Clint took a sharp intake of breath. _Not there yet. Let’s not get carried away._

Instead of venturing further down the hopeless avenues of thought, Clint started clearing his head using the techniques he and Bruce had been working on. They were particularly helpful in aiding sleep, he found, and it was getting late. Even though there was more of the same tomorrow, Clint was looking forward to seeing Bruce again. As his mind emptied of all thoughts, Bruce was the last one to go.

 

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Bruce couldn’t find Tony at the base, so gave him a call. After giving up on the spear Tony had seemed dejected and moved back to Stark Tower, but he’d kept returning to keep apprised of the situation. Bruce appreciated that. He was sure Clint appreciated it too, apart from the hour and a half of Disney soundtracks Tony somehow managed to pump through the intercom in his room. It was payback for trying to kill him, apparently. Clint took the rebuttal in good grace, until he eventually snapped and kicked the speaker in. Fury wasn’t pleased and Clint couldn’t get Arabian Nights out of his head, but there was little repercussion after that.

“Banner, what’s up? Hawkass okay?” Tony asked as soon as he answered the phone. Bruce had told him repeatedly to call him Bruce (he was kind of amused at ‘Hawkass’, and that wasn’t his fight), but Tony either refused or forgot. It didn’t matter that much, he supposed.

“Oh, everything’s okay, not much change. I need to ask a favour, though.”

“Anything, shoot,” Tony said.

Bruce took a breath. “I figured out a way you can help.”

“Just say the word, I’m there,” Tony replied, and he sounded like he meant it.

“It might be a little… underhand?” Bruce hesitated, but he didn’t know why. Tony was the perfect man for the job. He could practically hear Tony’s grin.

“Even better.”

 

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Clint was in the middle of doing push-ups when Bruce arrived, early. As easy an option as daytime TV was, working out was a far better use of Clint’s time. A healthy head wasn’t the only thing he would need when he eventually got out. He considered telling everyone to stop sneaking him fast food and candy bars, but decided against it. It was good for his morale, after all, not to mention his amusement – each of the Avengers thought they were the only ones smuggling in snacks. Hiding the wrappers was becoming an issue though…

Clint stopped his workout and stood to greet his caller, wiping the slight sheen of sweat from his forehead. “Hey, Doc. Weren’t we scheduled for eight? Not that I mind,” he added.

“Uh, yeah. A little change of plan,” Bruce said.

“Got a better offer?” Clint asked, joking but a little disappointed.

“No, no, we’re still on.”

“Okay,” Clint shrugged. He reached for the mat they’d graciously allowed him to keep in his cell.

“Wait, don’t sit down,” Bruce said, punching a code into the door lock.

The door was open and Bruce had already crossed the threshold by the time Clint knew what was happening. When he did, panic rose up like a tidal wave in his stomach. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he demanded, not holding back the alarm in his voice.

Bruce’s reply was as casual as his entrance. “What does it look like?”

Clint was backing away. Had Bruce cracked? Was insanity catching? “Y… you can’t be in here. It’s dangerous,” he emphasised, wondering why the hell he was having to explain this to Bruce of all people.

Bruce didn’t seem to care. He was slowly walking further into the room. “I’m safe,” he insisted, completely calm. “You’re not going to change. You can control it. It’s what we’ve been working on.”

Clint might have appreciated the sentiment if he hadn’t been so busy freaking out. “It’s too soon, it’s too big a risk,” he said, shaking his head. He was almost at the back of the room now and Bruce was still coming. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Bruce put on his best ‘seriously?’ face. “Come on. It’s me. I’m about the only guy on the base qualified to take the risk. Which is mine to take, by the way.”

“That’s not… I don’t-” Clint couldn’t help stumbling over his words. Bruce wasn’t playing by the fragile rules they’d set up and Clint didn’t know how to play this new game. He literally had his back against the wall now.

“Call it the next step in your path to recovery,” Bruce told him, still calm and collected.

“Security’s going to be here any second with SHIELD’s entire stockpile of tranqs,” Clint tried. “They’ll probably give you most of them for good measure. You should go before they get here.”

Bruce scrunched his nose up. “About that…”

That halted Clint’s fear and piqued his curiosity. The security team should have been here almost immediately after the door had been opened. The fact they were nowhere to be seen and silence echoed around the room instead of alarm bells was, now that he thought about it, kind of strange. “What did you do?”

“I might have…” Bruce seemed to search the ceiling for the right words, “ _sequestered_ us some alone time.”

“What are you talking about?” Clint repeated. There was no way this was on the level. “What did you do?”

“It was Tony’s idea,” Bruce insisted.

Suddenly it made a lot more sense.

“That’s not true, it was my idea,” Bruce retracted. “But Tony helped to uh… Tony… is a bad influence, I think.”

“Bruce…”

“It’s better if you have plausible deniability.”

“ _Bruce!”_

“They’re watching some old footage of us meditating. I’m sure it’s a little more technical than that but, for all intents and purpose…” Bruce shrugged. “The old ones are the best ones.”

Clint stared, dumbfounded, on the fence between emotional states. Bruce had enlisted Stark’s help, bypassed security, gone behind Fury’s back, broken the rules for him, which was just the stupidest idea and the hottest fucking thing he’d ever… no, no! Bad idea, really bad idea.

Really good bad idea…

Bruce was almost within arms’ reach now and it was getting difficult to be angry, not when Clint could smell him, almost touch him, practically _taste_ him. Of _course_ Clint had thought about it, slipped and dared to let himself fantasise a little (it was as far as he could go without security getting a x-rated show), but he hadn’t expected this. It was insane. It was _dangerous_. It was… Clint was sure there were more synonyms but he was fighting a losing battle trying to think of them.

“You… you’re…”

Before Clint could even construct the sentence, Bruce stepped into his personal space and leaned in, stopping just inches away. Clint was holding his breath but he could feel Bruce’s on his mouth. Their hands met by happy accident on one side and Bruce slipped his other around Clint’s waist. It had been so long since Clint had been touched by someone other than medical professionals and security, his skin felt electrified at the sensation.

“I’m here,” Bruce whispered, and moved achingly closer.

There was nowhere to go, but Clint couldn’t imagine wanting to be anywhere else. Bruce’s top lip was skating over his own and Clint was utterly, hopelessly lost in the anticipation of more.

Bruce swallowed but didn’t follow through with the promise. “If I’m wrong about this,” he breathed, “if you meant what you said… if this was just a distraction and nothing else, then I’ll leave. And it won’t matter if I believe you or not, I won’t argue. I’ll just go.”

Someone had switched off the gravity in Clint’s head and all his thoughts were floating. It felt like Bruce had suspended time, halted reality to ask him this, to get the truth or agree to continue the lie. Clint didn’t know what he wanted. No, that wasn’t true. He wanted Bruce, _god_ did he want Bruce, but it wasn’t about _want,_ it was about necessity. The right thing. Which was… which was…

Bruce flicked his gaze from Clint’s lips to meet him in the eye. Behind the gaze was hope and promise and lust and so help him, _love_ or something close to it. After he saw that, Clint knew the ‘right thing’ was this. It would always be this and nothing could make him think otherwise. He closed the gap between them, pressing his lips against Bruce’s open mouth and wrapping his arms around him. Bruce relaxed into him, kissing back with abandon. Starved of each other’s touch for so long, tenderness gave way to passion. They stole small breaths where they could bear it until they weren’t enough and the kiss finally ended. Both men stayed close, breath heavy and long. Bruce’s hands had ended up either side of Clint’s head, and Clint had subconsciously mirrored the movement.

“I… I don’t want to pretend anymore,” Clint said, his voice trembling. “I want to be with you. I want… you.”

Bruce smiled wide. “Yeah, I figured.”

Clint laughed out loud. “Okay, I had that coming.”

The words had barely passed his lips before Bruce swept him up in a kiss once more, greedy to taste him again. After a short beat, Clint was catching up, remembering all at once how amazing it was to lose himself in Bruce’s presence. Like a starved man suddenly presented with a feast, he was unashamedly hungry for the other man’s body, and from Bruce’s roaming hands and the fierce presence of his tongue inside Clint’s mouth, he felt the same way.

“Mmph, how long did you say we had?” Clint said, breaking apart the bare minimum amount of time to ask the question.

“Long enough,” Bruce replied just as quickly.

Clint’s hands found their way to Bruce’s ass, then slipped up under his shirt to scratch lightly up his back. Bruce whimpered, a sound Clint revelled in.

“And you’re sure there’s no-one-”

“No-one’s watching,” Bruce assured. “No-one’s coming.”

They stumbled towards the bed. It was small, but it was enough. Clint bit his lower lip, his mind racing with possibilities. Of course, without aid there were only a few things they could do, but any of them were just fine by Clint. He pushed off Bruce’s jacket, but the scientist pulled away for a second to recover it. Momentarily confused, Clint saw why when Bruce pulled something out of the pocket. Lube. It might as well have been the holy grail as far as Clint was concerned.

“Bruce Banner, what makes you think I’m that kind of girl?” he said with mock indignation. “Because you’re right, I totally am,” he confirmed, taking the tube and dropping it on the bed behind them.

The jest seemed to make Bruce smile even wider. Clint forgot about everything but Bruce. It was as if nothing untoward had happened, no lingering God of Mischief, no nightmares, no blackouts, just the two of them how things should be. He grabbed Bruce’s belt and pulled him to his lips again.

More tongue, more hands, and far fewer clothes later, Clint was utterly lost in the fervour, moaning into Bruce’s neck as the scientist straddled him on the bed. They had somehow found a sweet spot on the awkward platform, and Clint entertained the thought that they could probably find it anywhere – kitchen table, lab, elevator, rooftop – but before the thought could run any further, Bruce licked his tongue over Clint’s left nipple while expertly undoing his pants without looking – and when exactly had he learned how to do that? - By then all coherent thoughts Clint had had disappeared like vapour into the air.

As they poured into each other, Bruce took the lead and Clint was more than happy, like really, _really_ happy to let that happen. ( _Fuck me, Bruce_ might have slipped out a few times, to be fair.) Before long every item of clothing both men owned was strewn over the floor of the small cell and Bruce was putting his fingers into Clint’s ass, watching for cues, making sure he could handle it. When he was ready, Bruce entered him and the rest of the world disappeared. Bruce started fucking him slowly and tenderly, and god damn if it wasn’t everything Clint had imagined it would be. Despite the initial pain, Bruce wasn’t rough or over-eager. He took it slow enough to build the intensity. That and the heat, the closeness, it was almost more than Clint could handle to imagine it ever ending. Reality was suspended and it was just this, _them_ , sensation and rhythm and ecstasy.

Clint didn’t want to miss a single moment, only closing his eyes when his senses threatened to overcome him. He watched for every movement, savoured every moan and whimper and curse and when Bruce said his name it was like no-one had ever said it before. Bruce found another sweet spot and Clint couldn’t maintain his composure for long. Bruce knew how to read him, knew how to fuck him, when to speed up and slow down. Clint was practically on the verge of exploding when Bruce worked the other sweet spot he’d found. Clint watched Bruce’s rouged, hot face, lips apart and gasping for breath, for as long as he could before he finally reached a dizzying orgasm. A few moments later Bruce’s own face twisted in climax, and he looked shockingly, ridiculously beautiful. Clint knew he wanted to see that face again and again.

After planting a lazy kiss on Clint’s swollen lips, Bruce pulled out and fell limply by his side. He somehow fit perfectly into the small space, resting his head on Clint’s shoulder. It seemed to take all of his remaining energy to take off the condom and discard it, draping his arm over Clint’s chest after he did so.

“That was my favourite session yet,” Clint said breathlessly.

Bruce laughed, too worn out to form any other response.

“And hey, neither of us flipped out so, go team,” Clint added.

For a moment it looked like Bruce had only just remembered that the Hulk existed. Clint realised his own demons had been reduced to ghosts, on hold throughout the rapturous escapade. Maybe they really were the best therapy for each other.

For a few minutes the two of them just stayed still, immersing themselves in the moment. Clint listened to Bruce’s breath slowing like it was a piece of music.

“I wish you could stay,” Clint said, breaking the comfortable silence. “Scratch that,” he reconsidered. “I wish I could leave. We could go to Paris.”

Bruce smiled. “What about the food?”

“I’m sure they have McDonald’s in France,” Clint replied quite seriously. “I’ll sneak some into the fancy restaurant I’m going to take you to.”

Clint knew it was cheesy but he didn’t care. From the Cheshire Cat-like grin on Bruce’s face, he didn’t care either.

“I’m going to hold you to that,” Bruce said. “I like hearing you talk about the future.”

Clint knew what he meant. Bruce had given him hope for finally getting out of the cell, back into the world, free and fighting. Whether it was the near or far future was still in question, but Clint hadn’t felt this good in weeks.

“Oh no…” Bruce said, his expression suddenly changing.

“What?” Clint asked, instantly concerned.

Bruce groaned dramatically. “I just remembered the part of the plan that involves leaving.”

“Oh, that. I guess it would be kind of awkward for anyone stumbling upon this frankly beautiful scene,” Clint replied with only a hint of sarcasm. Reality had the audacity to creep back into view. Clint sent his denial after it with a machete.

“Right. We should quit while we’re ahead,” Bruce agreed.

Neither man moved.

“Or…” Clint began, but decided to finish the sentence with action instead of words. He pushed himself up, shifting so he was hovering over Bruce. He kissed him lightly once, a precursor to a much deeper kiss. Bruce responded in turn, sucking Clint’s tongue and moving his hands through his hair.

“I really should go,” Bruce managed to slip out between breaks for air, “at some point…”

Clint grunted, continuing his attack, moving from Bruce’s lips to his earlobe. “I disagree.”

“I can’t stay,” Bruce argued without much resolve.

“You could,” Clint replied. “I could hide you in the wardrobe.”

Bruce ran his hands down Clint’s back to his ass. “You don’t have a wardrobe in here.”

Clint waved his hand in dismissal. “Details, details.”

Bruce caught a glimpse of the security camera in the corner and pulled away. “Clint…”

Clint knew it was time to stop. Once again denial had failed to slay reality. He hung his head in defeat and sighed heavily. “Fine,” he said, watching Bruce pick up his scattered clothes. “This was a big risk,” he said seriously, “but I’m glad you took it.”

Bruce stopped getting dressed. “You took the same risk for me, remember?”

“Yeah, I remember,” Clint said, smiling.

“I’ll check in with Tony, see how everything went. Unless there’s a security team waiting outside with ‘SHIELD’s entire stockpile of tranqs’, I think it’s safe to say we got away with it. You should get dressed too,” Bruce told him, fastening the last button on his shirt. “Might look a little odd when we switch back to the real camera feed and you’re suddenly naked.”

“It’s nothing they haven’t seen before,” Clint said, reluctantly sitting up. “Lost a bet with Tasha,” he explained upon seeing Bruce’s confused expression.

“Hm. You can fill me in on that another time,” Bruce said.

Clint suspected he was already imagining him streaking through the base.

Bruce slipped his shoes on and was ready to leave.

“Thank you,” Clint said. “For seeing through me. Pretending you didn’t.”

“Well, I did have a little help in that area,” Bruce admitted. “But you’re welcome. I’ll text Tony, tell him to return the security feed to live in five minutes. The looped footage ends with you sitting on the bed, so that’s where you should be,” he said. “ _Dressed_.”

Clint rolled his eyes and hopped off the bed. “Okay, okay.” He scooped up most of his clothes and stood up, which was when Bruce planted a short and sweet goodbye kiss on him before making his escape. He punched in the door code and left the cell. The heat of their bodies must have raised the temperature significantly in the small room, because a wash of cold air hit Clint before the door closed again.

“I’ll see you later,” Bruce said, still smiling. “Remember, five minutes, on the bed.”

“Oh how I wish I could take that out of context,” Clint said mischievously.

Bruce laughed. He reached in his pocket for his phone and sent what must have been a pre-typed text message to Tony. Clint fastened his jeans and was finally in a decent state of dress. He smoothed down his t-shirt and looked back up at Bruce, who had been watching.

“You might want to sort your hair out before you leave, Freckles,” he said. “Even though it is one hundred per cent adorable, it kind of gives the game away. That and the little uh… hickey on your neck there. Sorry.” (He wasn’t sorry at all.)

Bruce tried to tame his hair as best he could and pulled his collar up to hide the offending mark. “Better?”

“Nah,” Clint said. “I preferred you naked.”

“I better go.” The words were there but the movement was not. Bruce was having trouble leaving. Clint knew he would be the same if their roles were reversed, and not just because of post-sex aches.

“This is harder than I thought it would be,” Bruce said.

Clint replied, completely deadpan; “Would it help you to know I just took that out of context too?” he said, guessing bringing the tone down might help the situation.

Bruce laughed aloud and dropped his head. “Yes, thank you,” he said, still laughing. “I’ll see you later.” At last finding command of his limbs, Bruce left Clint behind.

 

End of Chapter Thirteen


	14. Only If For a Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some v. interesting debate going on here! In my view there was a lot left unexplored about Loki’s mind control in the movie – ie room for creative license – which is probably why I couldn’t help but start writing this colossal fic! I have already decided on the ending and I hope it won’t disappoint too many people.
> 
> But that's chapters away! In the meantime let's get back to business.

Clint assumed he probably dreamt the past hour, that perhaps his subconscious had grabbed hold of the conjugal visit idea and just ran with it. Because Bruce wouldn’t really get Stark to hack into SHIELD security. He wouldn’t break into his cell and lock the door behind him so they could engage in fantastic sex. _That just wasn’t a thing that happened._

Except it did. The post-coital aches and blissful satisfaction were real enough. Clint was back together with Bruce in a big way and it felt like a daydream. Happiness had crept away so gradually of late that now it was back it felt unfamiliar. Clint tried to let it sink in. Not only was he having trouble believing it happened, but he could scarcely believe they’d gotten away with it either. Stark was good. Clint made a mental note to send Tony a muffin basket or something. He could probably even forgive him for the Disney songs as long as he hadn’t made a secret tape of the affair – in which case Clint would have to kill him (but not before getting a copy, of course).

Suddenly a proverbial rain cloud had been lifted and Clint was thinking about the future. The Paris thing had slipped out, but it wasn’t actually a terrible idea. Bruce seemed to like it. It would take time, and trust and a metric tonne of patience but Clint was confident he could do it. The Avengers were waiting. Bruce was waiting. Maybe not as patiently as Clint had first assumed, going by the sneaky cell invasion, but he would be there when Clint got out of this place.

_"If I'm wrong about this, if you meant what you said..."_

Clint started replaying it in his head for the hundredth time. He wanted to remember every word, every touch, every smell, every sensation, the look on Bruce’s face when he came and okay, calm down, the cameras are back on.

_"If this was just a distraction and nothing else, then I'll leave..."_

In the time it took Bruce to open the door and back him up against a wall, Clint had traversed an emotional spectrum, from disbelief to fear and anger, all the way through to want and need and what felt suspiciously like love. It was a scary notion; it always had been, but Clint strongly suspected it was where they were headed, if they weren’t there already. Clint would have never called it. Actually, that wasn’t strictly true. In the beginning it was mostly superficial attraction on Clint’s part, and there might have even been some truth to the ‘distraction’ thing. But after spending five minutes with Bruce it was plain he was much more than just a dist…

A distraction.

The word triggered something inside his head. _Distraction._

Clint felt a cold unease spread through his body. It was just the hint of an idea, a buried memory, something that was hidden before. He tried to grab hold of the thread before it disappeared. Somehow he knew it was important to pull it. He repeated the word hoping it would spark again, _distraction, distraction, what_ was a distraction? Bruce? Loki? No, that wasn’t it.

The memory was slipping away.

_Distraction, distraction, distraction._

Clint sat up on the bed, changing tack in an effort to retrieve the information from his uncooperative brain. Despite the dread threatening to stall him, he tried to stay calm, break his thoughts down like he’d talked about with Bruce.

They had discussed the possibility of this happening. Clint was gaining ground in his own mind, claiming it back from Loki. The chance that he would reclaim memories wasn’t outside the realm of possibility. And it had to be a memory trying to come to the surface. Clint couldn’t see anything else causing the same disquiet.

It must have been something from one of his blackouts. Even after Steve’s investigations and the security sweeps, they still knew little about what Clint had been doing while he was out of it. All he knew for certain was what had been witnessed – the briefing, Marlowe, the experiment - the only incident that was unconfirmed by witnesses was the accident at Tony’s lab.

Clint got up and started pacing, subconsciously running his hands through his hair. The contentment from Bruce’s visit had all but evaporated, replaced instead by fear. Clint wanted to push the panic button, get someone to listen to him, but he had nothing to say. What was he going to tell them? That he had a bad feeling? What exactly was anyone supposed to do with that?

_Tony’s lab. A distraction._

Something clicked into place.

 _Tony’s lab…_ The connection seemed to open another floodgate. Clint’s thoughts gained momentum as a theory started to build and they were headed for a terrible destination. Clint practically punched the panic button on the intercom.

“I need to talk to someone, _now_. Natasha, Fury, Cap, anyone,” he said, leaving no room for misinterpretation.

The response was immediate. “Agent Romanoff isn’t far from you, we’ll tell her to see you ASAP.”

“Patch her through here, it can’t wait,” Clint insisted.

“Understood, wait one.”

Clint waited impatiently for a few moments before hearing Natasha’s voice.

“Clint, I’m on my way to you. What’s wrong?”

“I think it was a distraction. Tony’s lab, I don’t think I was trying to kill him.” The words spilled out faster than Clint intended.

“Slow down, what are you talking about?” Tasha asked calmly.

“The experiment in Tony’s lab. I don’t think I was trying to kill him. I think I was trying to distract him.”

“Distract him from what?” Tasha pressed, on board now.

Clint wasn’t sure, his brain was still working overtime trying to piece it together.

Tasha finally came round the corner, her demeanour calm and composed. “Is this hypothetical or do you remember something?” she asked first.

“Nothing specific,” Clint told her, irritated that he couldn’t tell her anything more concrete. “It’s just… a feeling. A really _bad_ feeling.”

Clint’s trust in Natasha was not misplaced. She knew better than to dismiss him.

“Walk me through it,” she said. “You think the experiment was a distraction. A distraction from what?” she asked again.

Clint took a breath and asked the most pertinent question he could grab hold of. “What does Tony keep in that lab?”

“All kinds of things, Stark tech, experiments, I don’t know for sure,” Natasha said.

Clint ran through his top candidates. “Weapons? Chemicals? Explosives?”

Tash was considering the implication. “You think you stole something like that from the lab,” she surmised.

“It’s possible, right?” Clint knew he must have seemed manic, but hoped Tash would give him the benefit of the doubt. “Tony doesn’t strike me as the type to take an inventory after almost getting killed, especially if he’s busy trying to figure out _who’s_ trying to kill him.”

Natasha needed only a moment to think about it. “I’ll call Stark, ask him if anything’s missing. But even if you did take something dangerous, security swept the tower, and the nearest bases. We didn’t find anything.”

“I know. But I can’t shake this,” Clint told her. The horror of possibilities was too much to bear. “If something happens, I just… I can’t be responsible for any more…”

“Stop,” Natasha ordered, saying more with her tone and her eyes than the simple command. _Stop blaming yourself. Hold it together._ “I’ll look into it, okay? Right now.”

Clint let out a breath. “Thanks. Keep me posted?”

Tasha nodded and left, purpose in her step. Clint felt marginally better with Natasha on the case, but he couldn’t calm down. His mind was still racing. Though it wasn’t as solid as a memory, the theory was a worrying possibility and definitely plausible. The devious plan was certainly something he could have constructed. Steal something from Stark’s lab, hide it, and cover up the theft with an experiment gone wrong. Clint suspected leaving Tony alive was part of the plan too. Killing him would have seen SHIELD, the Feds and lord knew who else combing through the lab. Leaving Stark alive meant no unwanted visitors and kept him occupied trying to figure out what happened. How could Tony resist a conspiracy that he was the centre of?

Until Tasha got back to him, Clint was helpless to do anything but speculate. What could he have taken from Stark’s lab? It had to be dangerous, but in what way? Destructive? Poisonous? He couldn’t rule out the possibility it was even something beyond his own knowledge. Loki was inside his head; who knew what plans he had put there, what skills he had implanted…

Staying calm was one of the first things Bruce had tried to teach him, and Clint was failing miserably at it. Still, Loki hadn’t made an appearance, so at least the mental walls he’d put up hadn’t started to crumble just yet. Part of him wanted to call Bruce, but another part didn’t want to worry him with this - especially when Clint didn’t know what exactly _this_ was. Speculation wasn’t constructive. Clint knew he needed to _remember_ , not just make educated guesses, but it was harder than it sounded.

Clint lied on the bed in an effort to calm down, and tried to focus on what exactly he _did_ remember. He recalled the night he’d ‘woken up’ in the bathroom, standing in front of the mirror. Among the pain and nausea he’d seen flashes. Warning signs. _Do Not Enter. Authorised Personnel Only_. Bruce had seen him near the service elevators at the Tower. What was it Loki has said? _A lot more people are going to die…_

The pieces did not bode well for the puzzle. SHIELD had swept the Tower for threats, but Clint knew if he wanted something hidden, they wouldn’t find it. Coulson used to know some of his tricks; Phil had found a few of his weapons stashes over the years, but there were plenty he hadn’t.

If Clint could go to Stark Tower himself, get to the service elevators, maybe it would spark a memory.

_Bad idea. Not happening._

But the fear was rising and threatening to take hold.

Clint closed his eyes and went through his breathing exercises. Giving in to fear was bad for his mental health, after all. This sense of urgency and desperation was meaningless, wasn’t it? If he’d stolen a weapon or some other dangerous materials for future use, they would just be holed up somewhere. Clint had been locked up for a week, it wasn’t like…

“Clint, you there?” Natasha’s voice came over the intercom on the back wall.

Clint hit the button to reply. He held his breath. “I’m here.”

“I talked to Tony, he was already at the tower. He says several items are unaccounted for.”

Clint felt sick. “What items?”

Natasha hesitated. Not a good sign. “Some high grade explosives and some other equipment Stark says could conceivably be used to make a bomb.”

Clint leaned on the bed, his legs feeling numb all of a sudden. It was as if someone had pulled the life out of him. This wasn’t happening. An hour ago he’d been getting better, feeling better. This was some kind of sick joke, a nightmare.

“I’ve updated Fury, we’re assembling teams to search the tower again,” Natasha explained. She sounded out of breath like she was walking hurriedly or running. “We’re evacuating everyone else just to be safe.”

“Tash…”

Natasha must have heard the desperation in his voice. She didn’t allow him to continue. “Listen, there’s no reason to believe you finished or even attempted to build anything dangerous,” she tried. “Even if you did, you’ve been locked up and monitored for over a week. If something was going to happen it would have happened by now.”

What she meant was if he’d build a bomb that was going to take out Stark Tower and a chunk of Manhattan, it would have happened by now. Clint knew she was trying to keep him calm but he could hear the fear in her voice. It would have been undetectable to anyone who didn’t know her, but he could pick it out even over a radio. And it _terrified_ him.

“If there’s anything you can tell us to help find it…” Tasha said.

“The lower levels,” Clint uttered. It was all he could manage. “Start there.”

“Got it. I’ll keep you updated. Out.”

The comm. fell silent. The cell felt like a grave Clint had been buried alive in. Nothing could have prepared him to hear that his theory was right. _High explosives. Evacuation._ Clint’s stomach lurched. This didn’t feel real. He was no expert but had skill enough to construct a decent bomb. With the right materials, in the right place, it could be potentially catastrophic. Tash knew that; it was why the fear had crept into her voice.

Fury was probably briefing the rest of the Avengers now to help search the tower. Clint knew they were the best people for the job but he didn’t want them involved. He didn’t want _anyone_ involved. The people he cared about, his colleagues and friends, his _family_ were risking their lives to sort out his mess.

Clint recognised this feeling. It was the same nausea, the same horror he had woken up to after being freed from his mental prison the first time round.

_A lot more people are going to die._

It hadn’t been a vague threat but a promise.

Clint would not, _could_ not sit in this cell and wait for his friends to die. Under Loki’s control he had injured and killed without conscience. Clint had no doubt he’d have set up traps to do the same thing in case someone uncovered his plan.

Clint activated the intercom. “I need to talk to Fury, now.”

“Director Fury is occupied, I can relay a message,” came the answer.

“Put me through, right now,” Clint said urgently. “It’s about the bomb.”

After a beat he heard Fury’s voice. “Barton, what have you got for me?”

“I need to be there, Sir,” Clint told him, as calm and collected as he could manage. “Security can escort me, you can cuff me, anything I just, I need to be there.”

“Not going to happen,” Fury replied succinctly.

“Sir…”

“You’re still compromised, Agent, you’re not going anywhere,” Fury told him without room for debate. “Do you have any new information or not?”

Clint screwed his eyes shut. He could already see where this was going. “Not right now but if I were to…”

Fury cut him off. “Then sit tight. We can handle this. Fury out.”

Clint could have punched a hole in the wall.

_Compromised._

Loki hadn’t shown up in two days, and even now he was nowhere to be seen. Clint was sure he had a hold on him. He’d had no more blackouts. He knew he wasn’t completely rehabilitated but under supervision he could help, maybe even save lives. All he wanted to do was clean up his own mess. If he could just get to Stark Tower, try and retrace his steps…

Several minutes went by. Minutes spent thinking about all the ways Clint knew how to injure and kill people with hidden triggers, with traps and tripwires. Minutes thinking about an explosion deep inside Stark Tower, about the damage it would do, about the lives it would extinguish. Minutes spent thinking about the agents he’d already killed while under Loki’s spell.

No.

No more.

It was a bad idea, but Clint was already going for it. He activated the intercom again.

“I need to…”

Clint dug his nails into his palm, drawing blood.

“Get Fury back, I need to talk to…” he said, deliberately slurring his words. “I need…” Clint pretended to sway.

“Agent, are you alright? Do you need assistance?”

Clint held his now bloodied hand up to his nose and subtly smeared a little around his nostrils, making sure it was in sight of the camera.

Then he keeled over.

The response was quick. Clint tensed up his body and shook to feign a seizure, just for that added urgency. He heard the door sweep open and at least two people approach.

“Clint, can you hear me?” It was Doctor Wilde.

Clint did not respond. When he felt one of the doctors crouch beside him, he apologised internally for what he was about to do.

Grabbing the man’s wrist, he twisted it hard, causing him to drop the syringe he was holding. In one swift movement Clint caught it whilst pulling Wilde up in front of him as a human shield. He held the syringe to his neck. He guessed it was anti-seizure medication or a sedative but it didn’t really matter what it was when you threatened to stab someone with it.

Clint hadn’t lost the ability to gage a situation in seconds. In a heartbeat he assessed what lay before him. One young blonde doctor, fully freaked out. Beyond the open door (thank-you blondie) two security personnel waiting with stun guns. Clint was glad he hadn’t neglected his workout regime while incarcerated. He felt confident he could easily take out the pair of agents before him without permanent injury to any party.

“I’m leaving,” Clint said quite clearly. “If you try to stop me, blah blah, stab him in the throat et cetera. I’m in a hurry so let’s not draw this out?”

“No, let’s,” Wilde said. “My day was going really slowly, this should liven it up.”

Clint had to admire the persistence of his sarcasm in a dire situation.

He forced Wilde forward slowly, edging towards the door. Clint could see the gun-wielding SHIELD agents itching to pull their respective triggers. When he was parallel with Blondie, Clint whispered in Wilde’s ear. “Nothing personal, doc. Just got somewhere to be.”

It was over in seconds.

With a pang of guilt and a sickly thwack, Clint rammed Wilde’s head against the doorframe, knocking him out cold. Without pause he ducked to miss the oncoming shot from Unlucky Agent #1 and grabbed Blondie as his new hostage. The relationship was short-lived, however, as he pushed him into Unlucky Agent #2. With his balance thrown and the other agent trying to reset his stun gun, Clint went to work.

In ten seconds everyone was on the floor.

 _This was really happening, then,_ Clint thought as he looked at his handiwork. He hadn’t even been sure when he’d made the decision to make a break for it. One minute he was happy, recovering, thinking about Bruce and Paris, the next…

Clint shook the thoughts away. The decision was made and he still believed it to be the right one. There was no time to dwell on guilt or the thought of reprisal for his actions. There was a mission now, and it was all that mattered.

More personnel would be on the way and alarm bells would be ringing any second now. Unluckily for them, Clint knew the base like the back of his hand and would be long gone by the time they arrived. He was about to disappear into the ceiling vents when he caught sight of a medical supply cabinet across the room. Making a snap second decision, he broke the glass with the butt of the stun gun and zeroed in on his target: nicodramine, a tranquillizer. If it came to it, sedating your friends and co-workers was marginally less awful than knocking them out with blunt force or an arm round the throat. He found a syringe and filled it with the substance.

Using a spare trolley to reach one of the ceiling panels, Clint removed it with sheer force and disappeared in the underbelly of the base.

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

As plans went, it hadn’t lingered in the development stages but Clint was used to winging it. It was part of his skillset, even if it did used to make Coulson grit his teeth. Clint had no doubt if his former handler were still around, he’d be found in no time. He had some kind of sixth sense for homing in on Clint’s hiding places. Probably a demon at hide and seek. Despite everything, Clint smiled at the thought of Phil playing hide and seek. Shortest game ever.

Working through the vents and structural cavities of the underground base was no mean feat. They were cramped and filthy, full of wires, pipes, and struts, certainly not intended for personnel to be squirming around in. Clint had the layout of almost all of the SHIELD bases in New York memorised. That had been a dull evening. His intended path would lead him straight to one of the elevator shafts to the surface.

He could hear the alarm echo through the base. Whether it was in response to his breakout or the threat to Stark Tower was irrelevant really. Fury would probably couple them as one ‘situation’ anyway, and SHIELD agents were good multi-taskers.   Clint could picture Fury fuming, already dreaming up an appropriate punishment in the back of his head. Clint suspected that’s where he might get it.

After squeezing past a particularly ill-placed metal strut, Clint finally made it to the elevator shaft. The elevator itself was a few floors below the vent. There were three options: climb up the shaft (time-consuming and tiring), wait for someone to use the elevator and hitch a ride on top (time-consuming and risky), or jump in the elevator himself (risky). It was a simple equation; time was of the essence. He climbed down to where the elevator was still stationary and cracked the vent just slightly to check for occupants. There were none.

Dropping into the light was like slipping between night and day. It took a few seconds for Clint’s eyes to adjust to the brightness and find the button he needed. Top level. Holding the button down would skip any intermediate floors and take him straight up topside. Piece of cake.

Except apparently nobody had told Clint that this trick was either a myth, or just a feature SHIELD had opted not to include in _their_ elevators. Clint was brought up to speed on this fact when the elevator came to a gentle halt and the doors opened to reveal his very surprised and confused lover. To make matters that much more ridiculous, a team of SHIELD security agents jogged past, completely failing to notice the escaped prisoner’s presence. It was like a scene from sitcom. Clint half expected his pants to fall down.

“Clint?” Bruce said, his brain obviously lagging as he tried to figure out what was wrong with the picture.

Clint grabbed his shirt and pulled him into the elevator, all the while frantically pushing the button to close the doors.

Bruce seemed to finally realise what was happening, shock spreading across his face in slow motion. “What the hell are you doing?” he asked, justifiably. He looked deeper into Clint’s eyes. “Are you you?”

“Yeah, I’m me,” Clint confirmed. Bruce was probably the only one in the vicinity that would do him the courtesy of asking. Clint pushed the button for the top floor and readied his stun gun for any more interruptions to his journey.

“Okay then, I’ll repeat the question: what the hell are you doing?!” Bruce demanded, his voice an unnecessary stage whisper. “Are you escaping?!”

“Kinda,” Clint admitted ridiculously. “Don’t freak out.”

“Are you _insane?_ When you said you were gonna take me to Paris I didn’t think you meant today!”

Bruce was actually taking it better than Clint expected. In fact, he looked more worried than angry, which was definitely preferable.

“How did you even…? It doesn’t matter. They’re going to lock you up and throw away the key after this,” Bruce said frantically. “All the trust you’ve been building, all the work we’ve been doing -”

“Bruce, please just listen,” Clint pleaded. “Do you know what’s going on? Has anyone briefed you?”

“Steve called, said to meet him topside, something about an emergency,” Bruce replied. “Are you the emergency?” he asked after a moment’s thought.

“No,” Clint said, then reconsidered. “Not all of it. I mean, I’m sure I’m not helping but I’m _trying_ to-”

Bruce stepped closer to him and took his hand. “Clint, think about what you’re doing. This isn’t you,” he said, his voice full of the same worry that was evident in his eyes. “Whatever it is, I’m sure we can handle it. This isn’t the way. You have to let them take you back in. If they find you they’re gonna hurt you.”

Clint knew Bruce had his best interests at heart; that was why his options were limited. Even if he could convince his lover that he had to do what he was about to do, Bruce wouldn’t let him do it alone. He’d want to help; he’d walk right into the danger zone, Clint knew it, and there was no way that was happening.

“You have to go back,” Bruce implored. “You know you do.”

Clint hated the decision he knew he had to make. “You’re right,” he said. He had to do it. There was no other way. “Of course you’re right.”

“Okay,” Bruce said, relaxing a little. He moved to the elevator controls. “We’ll just call security, I’ll tell them you’re here and ready to surrender. I’ll make sure they know you won’t fight.”

“Wait, just…” Clint knew he was going to hate himself for this. “Promise me something first.” He pulled Bruce into a gentle embrace.

Bruce returned the hug. “Anything.”

Clint stuck the needle in Bruce’s neck and injected the entire dose of sedative. “Stay away from Stark Tower.”

Bruce hissed from the pain, then his face contorted in confusion. “What are you…” he stumbled back against the wall of the elevator.

Clint looked on in fear, not sure whether to expect Bruce’s eyes to close or turn green. He’d injected a hefty dose of sedative into Bruce’s neck, it should have been enough to put him out, but where the Hulk was concerned anything was possible. When Bruce started to slide down the wall, Clint had his answer. As he grabbed the dazed scientist’s shoulders to ease the impact with the floor, Bruce stared up at him, eyes glazed and clouded with bewilderment. It was better than betrayal, but that was sure to come later.

Clint leaned him against the wall. Bruce looked like he had done at the department store during the invasion, slumped on the floor, punch drunk, only this time there wasn’t so much giddy hope for the future. More like the possibility of no future at all. Clint cursed himself for screwing everything up. Bruce was right, of course. He had abandoned the trust he’d been building. Loki wasn’t in control, which made the defiance even worse, in a way. There was a good chance Fury would confine him indefinitely after this, maybe even ship him off somewhere no-one would ever find him. There were plenty of _oubliettes in SHIELD’s cache to choose from._

Clint watched Bruce’s eyes close. “I’m sorry,” he uttered hopelessly.

The elevator was almost at the top floor. Clint forced everything he was feeling to the back of his mind. It was immaterial. He had to focus. There was a mission to complete.

 

End of Chapter Fourteen

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, insanity abound. Hope you're still with me. I'd miss you if you left!


	15. Not Okay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still on track for 18 chapters! It's all going to plan, she laughed malevolently.

Bruce hated waking up. He’d said it before but it was worth repeating. Again, and again. The slow drip of consciousness started to trickle through but a mental haze prevented clear memories from returning straight away. Bruce was no stranger to the feeling. Before he could gather enough energy to open his eyes, he heard a voice.

“I thought you said it would take another few hours to wear off?” It was a woman. She sounded on edge.

Another voice, this one belonging to a man, spoke next. “I thought so too.” He sounded nervous. “His system’s fighting it.”

Bruce’s sleep-addled brain didn’t connect the dots.

“Doctor Banner, you’re safe,” the woman said. Bruce managed to lift his eyelids a crack and see Maria Hill speaking to him. “You’re still at the SHIELD facility,” she finished.

Bruce tried to speak but couldn’t. His mouth was dry, so he swallowed a few times before trying again. “I’m… what?” he slurred. He didn’t remember hulking out, so how had he come to be apparently doped up to the eyeballs?

“You’re okay,” Hill emphasised. “Try to stay calm.”

If Bruce had a dollar…

“What happened?” Bruce blinked a few times and the blurry shapes came into focus. Hill and a doctor were standing by his bed. He was in a medical suite, an IV sticking out of his arm. He pulled it out as a matter of habit.

Hill nodded at the doctor who scurried away. “I’ll just give you the short version, if that’s alright with you.” Her tone didn’t suggest room for argument.

“Stark discovered some dangerous materials missing from his lab,” she said. “We believe Agent Barton has them stored somewhere at Stark Tower. We’re evacuating all civilians and searching the building.”

Bruce tried to process the information. He had plenty of questions about the details. Hadn’t they already searched the Tower? What were these dangerous materials and when had they gone missing? And then there was the matter of just how he ended up in medical, which Agent Hill had suspiciously stepped around. How long had he been out?

One of the questions pushed its way to the front of the queue. “How did I get here?”

As soon as he asked the question aloud, the answer came to him.

Clint. The elevator. The pain in the back of his neck.

A swell of anger ignited in his chest.

Hill must have noticed the slight waver. Her hand hovered instinctively over her gun.

Bruce had no time to reassure her. His mind was trying to construct an explanation without giving in to his heightened emotions. Dangerous materials at Stark Tower, Clint’s escape, one had to lead to the other.

_Promise me something._

His eyes weren’t infused with magic; Clint was himself. In a way that was worse. It meant the idiotic decision to escape had been all his. After all they’d been through would it have been too much to ask for a courtesy call? Bruce would have talked him out of it, of course he would have, because it was _insane_. In one fell swoop Clint had effectively destroyed the trust he’d built with Fury, with SHIELD, the Avengers and with _him._

Clint had been making progress. _They_ had been making progress. Why hadn’t Clint talked to him?

_Stay away from Stark Tower._

Maybe it wasn’t a lack of trust. Maybe it was something else.

“Bruce?” Hill asked tentatively.

_I’m sorry._

It hadn’t sounded like sorry. It had sounded like goodbye.

“Where’s Clint?” Bruce asked quietly. He was reaching the point of no return. Hill’s answer would be the decider.

Hill took a breath, most likely aware of her unwanted casting vote. “The situation is in hand,” she said carefully.

Not carefully enough. The lack of answer was an answer in itself. They obviously hadn’t apprehended Clint, which meant he was one the way to Stark Tower, if he wasn’t there already.

“Doctor Banner, I’m going to need you to calm down.”

It was too late for that. Bruce was already across the line. It was only a question now of how long he could hold out before he was completely gone.

“Leave,” he said. “Tell everyone to get out of my way.”

Hill took a step back before reaching for the alarm. It was the last thing Bruce saw before the pain started.

The Hulk had him.

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

Everything was going to plan. Okay, the bicycle was a surprise, but everything else was going to plan. Clint had hoped fate would hand him a convenient Harley to jack but no joy on that front. So after pinching an ‘I heart NY’ baseball cap, Clint had happened upon an unchained bicycle propped up outside a coffee shop. It was his lucky day. If you squinted.

So in the strange interlude between escaping SHIELD base and infiltrating Stark Tower, Clint sailed through traffic on a ten-speed purple bicycle and enjoyed the soft breeze on his skin and the natural light on his face. It wasn’t exactly how he’d pictured his first taste of freedom since the whole ordeal began, but it would have to do.

The base wasn’t far from Stark Tower. Thanks to his theatrical nose-breaking, gun-wielding rage blackout, they’d whisked him away to the nearest facility, around ten minutes from the Tower at a steady pace, and Clint was making good time. He turned the corner and saw it tearing up into the skyline, arrogantly beautiful. Clint was surprised to find how much it felt like home already. It was a pity that he might not get to make it his home again.

When he arrived he stopped across the street to assess the situation. Agents were on the door, no sign of any Avengers yet. Bruce had been on his way to meet with the Cap before Clint had… best not to dwell, but the point was Clint had a head start. Office workers and scientists were filing out of the entrance to the tower. Some were irritated, some were nervous. He could imagine their conversations. ‘What is it _now?_ ’ ‘Can’t be _another_ invasion, surely?’

The traffic wasn’t moving too fast, so Clint decided it wouldn’t be too dangerous to use as his distraction. With a pinch of guilt, Clint pushed his trusty purple bicycle into the road, not waiting to see the fallout of the act. He was already on his way across the street, a good enough distance from the scene to not be noticed.

Sure enough, the sounds of screeching tires, smashing headlamps, car horns and cursing rang out into the air. It was the perfect distraction. The agents supervising the evacuation took their eyes off the ball to check out the scene. Clint slipped through the door, making sure to use the steady flow of Stark employees exiting the building as cover.

That was the easy part.

Now there was the small matter of infiltrating a building that already housed a high concentration of SHIELD operatives, plus one or two Avengers, who were not only looking for the same thing Clint was looking for, but also looking for _him_.

Two agents were posted by the service elevators and stairs. Since the area was shielded by a partition that stretched up to the ceiling, the element of surprise was on Clint’s side. Readying the stun gun, he rounded the corner at relied on his instincts to take them out as efficiently as possible, and without leaving lasting damage.

The farthest guard Clint recognised as Roberts, only as he collapsed in a jittery heap on the floor. The nearest and final of the two guards Clint did not know, but she put up more of a fight that he’d hoped, even managed to draw her weapon. It was with small relief he noted it was also a stun gun. That meant they hadn’t been given a kill order, at least not yet. It also meant Clint could use it against her. He did so with some effort, and not before he got an elbow in the eye as thanks.

Since all SHIELD personnel would have already been alerted to his escape and probable destination, there wasn’t much point in hiding the unconscious agents. There was, however, good reason to drag Roberts into the stairwell and relieve him of his gear. As comfortable as Clint was in sweat pants, a t-shirt and sneakers with no shoelaces, SHIELD standard issue get-up was not only good sense, it was sensible camouflage. Clint added Roberts to the mental list of people to apologise to, with a special note for the added indignity of stealing his clothes.

A rogue stitch of guilt caused Clint to wonder if any of the SHIELD agents charged with clearing up his mess were the same ones on duty when he’d attacked the Hellcarrier. It was more than likely. The reprise in his behaviour would probably irreparably damage their trust in him. He had been at the wrong end of SHIELD’s trust before. There was a kind of symmetry to it if you looked hard enough.

But this was no time to get all poetic.

Clint rocked in Roberts’ snug-fitting boots and peeked down the stairwell. He realised he had no idea where to start. The flash of recollection he’d hoped for had been elusive thus far but he had to get moving. All he had was a direction. Down.

There were ten sub-levels at Stark Tower. Tony had showed the rest of the Avengers round on their first day. The lower levels had been a snooze fest, as Clint recalled. He’s been far more interested in the shooting range and the view from the rooftop. The arc reactor had been pretty impressive but once Bruce and Tony had got talking about the science, it kind of ruined it. Save for that, Clint knew little about what the lower levels comprised of. Tony had cut the tour short after plenty of giggling at the back from Clint and Tasha, and (Clint guessed) one too many stupid questions from Steve.

The arc reactor was an obvious target for any kind of explosive device. Taking down the energy source would no doubt do some considerable damage – probably even bring down the building and a big chunk of the surrounding area - but it was too obvious. Clint knew better than to leave any kind of device close to the gigantic power source. That and the fact it was probably the first place the search teams looked told Clint to start his search elsewhere.

Using the radio chatter to avoid the teams sweeping the lower levels, Clint made his way down, hoping something would trigger a memory, conscious or sub-conscious. He was silently waiting for a team below him to move on when he heard the message over the comms device he’d picked up from Roberts.

“All search teams, listen up.” It was Fury’s voice. “We have a Code Green headed towards Stark Tower.”

Clint let an outward gasp slip past his lips. Thankfully the team below were too busy cursing the fact they hadn’t called in sick today to notice. A possible high yield bomb in central Manhattan, a rogue agent on the loose and now a rampaging Hulk on the way? It was like Stark Tower was a giant fan and the shit was hitting it with hurricane force.

So Bruce was awake, pissed and Hulkified and Clint really should have expected that. He _had_ considered the likelihood of the reaction but he’d hoped for more time than this - preferably the amount of time he’d need to sort out his mess. It was why he’d told Bruce to stay away from the tower. Clint didn’t want Bruce to have to deal with this. It was like an evil genie had granted his wish. Bruce wasn’t dealing, the _Hulk_ was. Awesome.

Fury continued his brief. “Thor, Cap and Iron Man will stay topside and try to talk down or take down the Hulk, whatever comes first.”

Tony chimed in before Fury could continue. “How come it’s _my_ explosives we’re looking for, in _my_ tower and yet I’m the one stuck out here with a laser pen trying to distract the Jolly Green Giant?”

“Because he’s _your_ friend, Stark,” Natasha commented.

Fury chose to ignore Tony’s whining. “The rest of you, continue searching,” he ordered. “And stay sharp. Odds are Barton’s already in the building.”

Clint could almost hear Fury rub his temples in exasperation. To be the source of it wasn’t exactly new territory, but this degree was definitely unprecedented.

Clint refocused. Now the Hulk a part of the equation he had even less time than he’d anticipated. After his path was clear again, Clint continued down the stairwell and eventually found himself at sub-level –10, end of the line. No triggered memories, not even a whisper of his forgotten excursions.

Shit.

Without a spark of recognition, Clint would be working on guesswork which was exactly what he didn’t want or need. He’d be no more use than the agents already searching the tower, making his escape a completely meaningless. Some plan.

There was one option Clint was loath to consider. He could ask Loki. Summon the manifestation of his insanity from the pit he’d buried him in and literally ask which way to go. But that was dangerous a path and Clint didn’t know if he had the strength to go down it. If he reopened the door he’d closed, there was no telling what might happen. Loki could take control again, walk him straight to the explosives and finish what they’d both started.

“We have agents down at ground level,” a voice chimed over the radio, interrupting Clint’s internal crisis.

“Roberts and Goldman,” the agent reported. “They’re okay but it looks like Barton’s here and he has a radio.”

“Received. Keep chatter to a minimum. Follow protocol.”

That last voice had been Tasha’s. Clint wished she was with him on this. They had the same goal; it seemed absurd that he was the hunted and she was the hunter.

“Clint. I know you’re listening,” Natasha said. “You want to tell me what the hell you think you’re doing?”

Clint did not reply. He knew what Natasha would say, what he would say were their roles reversed. Maybe the conversation would have been a little different if the hundred or so other agents on the same band weren’t listening in, but they’d never know.

Clint cracked the door open to sub-level ten, made sure the coast was clear and slipped out. Though he had no idea of where to start searching, it was far better to keep moving than to stay still.

“I spoke to Wilde,” Tash continued as Clint made his way down the corridor. “He said you weren’t acting under Loki’s influence, so I can only assume you think you’re here to help. But we can handle this. You’re a liability while you’re free, you know that.”

Clint wanted to argue his case but refrained. To answer would be to give himself away in more ways than one. Presence, location, objective – even the shortest of answers would be a mistake.

“We have to treat you like a threat because you could be one. You hear me, Hawkeye? _You could be a threat_ ,” Natasha stressed. “How do we know you’re in control? How do _you_ know you’re in control?”

Clint hadn’t quite expected the last question. He hadn’t considered for a moment that he wasn’t in his right mind.

But he _should_ have considered it.

Doubt crawled into him.

No. No, Loki wasn’t controlling him. This wasn’t a blackout. Even if Loki had been guiding him subliminally, he would have shown Clint the way by now. No. Clint needed to help and he couldn’t do that from inside a cell. Escaping was the only choice he had. And it _had_ been his choice, he was sure of it. Loki was locked away. Clint was conscious, aware, he remembered, he _chose_.

Clint knew Natasha’s mistrust was professional, not personal. She had no doubt been tasked with finding him and bringing him in, after all, she was in charge of security at the base and… oh. Clint added Natasha to his list of people to apologise to.

He took out the radio and discarded it. It was useless now they knew he was listening. They would only feed him misinformation and try to get him to surrender and that wasn’t going to happen. Not until Clint had made sure no-one else was going to die due to his failure.

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

The Hulk hurtled towards Stark Tower, leaving untold damage in his wake. He had one goal, one destination. Clint. Payback, concern, fear, sometimes people forgot that the Hulk wasn’t just anger, wasn’t just a monster with rage at his core. Unfortunately, that was exactly what it looked like to the teems of screaming citizens fleeing in fear. Manhattan hadn’t forgotten what the Hulk had done for them, but the sight of a raging giant tearing through the streets wasn’t something they were quite used to.

These were not the Hulk’s thoughts. These thoughts would be saved for the scientist after whatever had to happen happened. The Hulk’s mind was one-track.

_He hurt us._

They had tried to stop him back at the base. Somewhere he knew not to kill them, that they weren’t to be harmed. _Friends, allies,_ the words pressed inside his head and Hulk knew to listen. The scientist could speak, in a way. They had an understanding now, more than before. They were the same.

_He hurt us._

_Don’t hurt him._

It was conflict inside him, but it was a goal. Stark Tower. The archer. He knew the way and was there in no time.

The Iron Man and red-caped one were waiting for him.

“Can’t let you go in there, buddy,” the Iron Man said, flying above the ground.

The Hulk sneered. It was time to play.

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

The layout of the place felt familiar but Clint couldn’t seem to access anything more than vague feelings of déjà vu. He was at a loss. After narrowly avoiding being caught by a search team Clint’s plan hit a brick wall, and not just figuratively. The corridor he’d entered was a dead end– it was still under construction. It was easy to forget Stark Tower was a relatively new structure. It was only the in the past couple of months Stark employees and The Avengers had moved in. The construction debris was a reminder, and the beginning of another spark of memory, but one that had little time to develop.

A search team was nearby, Clint could hear them. Like a trapped animal, he searched frantically for somewhere to run, or a place to hide, but unless he had untapped contortionist skills and could fit into the bucket sitting in the corner, he was fresh out of luck.

It was inevitable.

“Hey! Hold it right there!”

“Put your hands up!”

_Shit. Shit shit shit._

The team had their guns on him in seconds, hyper-aware of the danger he posed. Natasha wasn’t among them. A small mercy, but Clint was still in a bad position. He had no advantage, nowhere to go and a stun gun that looked wholly inferior to the next model up the other agents were sporting. Among the slew of internal cursing, Clint found himself wishing he had his bow and trick arrows. He could think of half a dozen that would be suited to the situation. But his favoured weapon was upstairs, gathering dust. A crime in itself. It ached to think of it like that.

“I said hands where we can see them!”

 _No you didn’t,_ Clint thought defiantly, but did as he was told nonetheless. He didn’t stop looking for an opportunity. It only ever took a moment, a single slip, and the tables could turn. The three agents taking baby steps towards him knew it too. They barely blinked as they approached, steadily and on edge.

“We have eyes on Barton, sub-level ten, section four,” one of the agents said.

Clint didn’t hear the response. The most probable answer would be from Natasha. ‘Bring him to me so I can kick his ass’ was a strong contender.

“Understood,” the agent replied to whatever order he’d been given.

“Slowly turn around and put your hands on the wall. Make any sudden movements and we will take you out.”

Clint couldn’t help think they should probably take him out as a matter of course – Tash probably would have - but he wasn’t complaining. Someone must have given the order to hold back. Maybe Tash wanted to shoot him herself. She probably wanted to, but it was a tad unprofessional, which made it unlikely.

One of the agents relieved Clint of his weapon. The opportunity he’d had been hoping for to turn the tide never came. They were trained SHIELD agents too, after all. After everything that had happened; the attack on the Hellcarrier, the blackouts, escaping custody, stabbing doctors and shooting guards, the level of mistrust had grown to mountainous heights and Clint didn’t expect any pity from his peers. Talking them round wasn’t even worth considering.

Metal cuffs clicked round his wrists, behind his back, and the opportunity to fight his way free was severely diminished. Not impossible, but not a good idea either. There were some activities that might be fun in handcuffs, but combat was not one of them.

As the team marched him back through the corridors at gunpoint (stun-gunpoint, but still…), no-one spoke. It stung. Not physically but in every other way. He was an annoyance, a side mission to be cleared up. A _threat_.  It was the opposite of what he was trying to do. Clint wanted, _needed_ to stop Loki’s threats from coming true. No-one else was going to die because of him. Too many had died already.

“I want to see Agent Romanoff,” Clint said. Talking his captors round wouldn’t work but if anyone would listen, Natasha would.

“Then it’s your lucky day, Barton,” one of the agents sniped from behind him.

The more than slight hint of sarcasm worried Clint a little. Maybe Tash had requested that one-to-one ass-kicking after all.

They made their way up to sub-level five and headed for the centre chamber where the arc reactor was housed. It sat in a huge atrium that was five storeys tall. The first five sub-levels were built around it. A dozen agents were scattered around the room using scanning devices Clint didn’t recognise. It looked like Stark tech. Natasha was centre-stage on the steps by the reactor. She was addressing a handful of agents, clearly in charge of the operation. When she caught sight of him she put her hands on her hips, her expression a delicate mix of unimpressed with a dash of disappointment, sprinkled with some serious burning rage.

“Talk to me,” she said, straight down to business, pleasantries be damned. “What do you know?”

Natasha had given him the benefit of the doubt after all and assumed his escape was based on something solid that could help clean up this mess. Well this was awkward. How could he explain the bulk of his plan was to just wing it? Actually, now he thought of it, she shouldn’t be at all surprised. They had known each other a long time, after all.

“Uh, I know cycling is a surprisingly effective way to dodge traffic?” Clint offered.

Tasha read him like a book. Her face had ‘you have got to be kidding me’ written all over. “You escaped SHIELD custody, took down agents, drugged Bruce Banner to get here, and you claim you’re not under Loki’s influence. Are you telling me you did this because you wanted some fresh air?”

Clint knew none of his answers were going to satisfy her. His actions were based on an emotional response, not an informed one. As for his plan, ‘hoping for the best’ was a large part of it, which he realised now sounded kind of really dumb.

From somewhere in the distance a roar echoed through the corridors and reverberated through the atrium. Everyone fell silent and turned looked upwards in various directions. The source was indeterminate, at least from a location stand-point. Everyone knew what was coming. _Who_ was coming.

Natasha let her shoulders drop a little. She closed her eyes. “And then there’s that.”

Clint made an attempt at looking apologetic. “Yeah. My bad.”

The Hulk must have been in the building to make such a din. Weren’t Tony, Thor and the Cap supposed to be on distraction duty? They clearly needed to get some new hand puppets. Maybe a giant ball of string.

Tash looked away and tapped her earpiece. “Captain, what’s your status?”

Clint could just about make out the response over the comm.

“Hulk got past us. He’s in the building. We’re in pursuit.”

Natasha turned her icy glare back in Clint’s direction. “I should throw you to the Hulk and get on with this. He’s coming for you,” she sniped.

Clint was genuinely sorry. For everything.

“Dammit, Clint.” Tash sighed, not unlike a parent disappointed in their child.

The sound of twisting metal and tearing concrete, getting closer. Gunfire. Shouts.

Natasha looked away, as if she was listening to something else. Probably another status report on the approaching chaos, Clint couldn’t hear.

Natasha looked at him, right at him, in that way she did when she was reading his very soul, and frowned. At that point Clint knew whatever trust she had left in him was probably not going to be enough. Not for this. She wasn’t going to let him off the leash and complete his mission. Everything he had done would be for nothing.

“Take him topside,” Tash ordered the agents guarding him. “Use the stairs on the north side. Don’t let-”

Chaos erupted, spilling out into the atrium like lava, debris spraying outwards and agents trying to outrun it. _Guess who’s coming to dinner_.

The Hulk did like to make an entrance. As everyone in the room switched to a code green (also known as panic-mode), Clint saw it for what it was, what he needed it to be: a distraction. His eyes darted to the nearest exit but Natasha caught his gaze.

“Don’t even think about it,” she warned.

The Hulk crashed down five storeys, landing on the other side of the room, wreckage showering down around him. Clint watched somewhere between horror and awe as he roared again, and sideswiped several of the agents attempting to make a futile stand. They were swept across the floor like breadcrumbs.

Hulk seemed to scan their faces, and Clint knew he was the special snowflake Hulk was looking for. He kept his head down, still surrounded by the team that brought him in. Their concentration had waned somewhat due to the green gatecrasher tearing up the place, but still provided a little cover.

It was short-lived.

All at once it was noise and confusion and shouting and clamouring, and a healthy dose of pain too. Something came flying out of nowhere, a crate maybe, and it knocked them over like skittles. Clint landed awkwardly, jarring his shoulder and reminding him of his hip injury. He was still in cuffs, a situation that needed rectifying, and quickly. He looked around frantically for the agent who’d cuffed him, and the key to his release.

“ARCHER.”

A chill travelled up Clint’s spine. He had never heard the Hulk speak before, only grunt and roar. It was eerie. And terrifying; definitely terrifying. Clint was made. The Hulk approached unblinking even as the bullets literally bounced off his huge form.

Clint tore his eyes from the impending shitstorm about to rain upon him and finally located what he was looking for. The key. The agent carrying them on his belt had still been dazed from the impact, but judging from his startled cry, he was now onboard the _oh shit oh shit oh shit_ train. Clint pushed himself along the floor and scrambled for him.

“HULK! STOP!”

It was Natasha. She too had put Clint on the backburner and focused on the much larger problem at hand. The fact that the larger problem might possibly be trying to _kill_ the smaller problem could have been a factor. She’d stepped in Hulk’s path, aiming her trademark pistols, for what little good they would do. Clint had to admire her guts. He always did.

The Hulk snarled at her in response but didn’t attack. There was familiarity there, Clint could see it. Maybe there was a chance Bruce was still in there, maybe there was a chance to talk him out like he had done back on the Manhattan street during the invasion.

But judging by what happened next, it was unlikely.

The Hulk grabbed the Black Widow like he was King Kong and she was Fay Wray, only with far less grace on both parts. He tossed her behind him and she tumbled across the floor. Clint couldn’t see how badly she was hurt, on account of his vision being filled entirely with green.

All of Jade Jaws’ attention was on him now.

 

End of Chapter Fifteen


	16. Steal It Back

Evasive manoeuvres, distraction, reasoning, everything Clint knew about combat was suddenly quite absent from his reserve, instead replaced with the highly unhelpful:

_Oh shit._

Clint had barely managed to scramble to his feet when a deafening, guttural cry penetrated him to the core. Still heading straight for him, the Hulk had actually _picked up speed,_ as if he couldn’t do enough damage with the pace he’d been at, the one that was leaving craters in the floor.

It was a paralysing heartbeat before all Clint could see was green, and then all he could feel was pain. It felt like he’d been hit by a bus. The impact sent him hurtling backwards at such speed that when he hit the ground again, he did not stop. Instead Clint skidded along the floor for what felt like forty feet. He could feel heat of the friction through his clothes and what felt like a cheese grater on his unprotected arm. He finally came to a less than graceful stop when he hit the back wall.

Clint needed more than a moment to get his breath back, but he didn’t expect he’d be granted the privilege. He could hear and feel pounding through the floor as Hulk stomped towards him, slower than a run this time; moving in for the kill, maybe. Clint managed to pull himself to his feet again, with the aid of the wall, and waited. For what, he wasn’t sure, but he probably deserved it.

The Hulk didn’t break stride until he was only a couple of feet away. It was ludicrous but Clint could have sworn he’d never seen the Hulk look so angry. The giant roared again, Clint could feel his bones vibrate with the sound, but he didn’t move. The Hulk drew back his fist and Clint finally shut his eyes. So was it then. The horrible end to a bizarre story.

The sound of concrete crumbling under impact, the bellow of a monster, then nothing.

Clint opened his eyes. The Hulk was still there, where he stood before, a snarl on his green lips. Clint followed the path of the clenched fist he’d believed destined for his own face.

Hulk had punched a crater-sized hole in the wall beside him.

Fear and adrenaline coursing through his veins, Clint let out the breath he’d forgotten he’d been holding. The situation was still volatile, but he wasn’t dead, which meant all hope was not lost.

“I know. Okay? I know. I’m a dick,” Clint began, the words tumbling out without pre-checks.

The Hulk growled.

“I’m sorry. Really sorry. I shouldn’t have drugged you. Him. You’re mad. Obviously. You’re mad because he’s mad, which is perfectly within your rights. Both of you,” Clint babbled. “But…”

The Hulk didn’t care for that word. He pulled his fist from the wall and pounded the floor, letting out a throaty bark.

Clint winced but the words kept falling out of his mouth. “I’m just trying to do the right thing, fix my mistake,” he insisted. “If I don’t, a lot of people could get hurt. Do you understand?”

The Hulk narrowed his eyes, his own heavy breaths getting steadier. His eyes darted towards Clint’s injured arm, which was spotted with blood and grazed skin. Clint knew he must have been imagining the flicker of concern in Jade Jaw’s eyes. There wasn’t much time to dwell on it, as Iron Man came swooping from one of the balconies, hovering over the scene like a bird of prey. He fired a small projectile at Hulk’s back to get his attention.

“What the hell, buddy?” Tony said through the suit. “You couldn’t find an ugly skyscraper to destroy? Hammer’s got one literally a few blocks over.”

Thor wasn’t far behind. “Stop this madness, brother! We are your friends!”

Clint guessed the Captain wouldn’t be far behind, but judging from the complete lack of response from the Hulk so far, he wasn’t going to have much luck either.

Clint made a quick decision to try something. The imagined look of concern, the fact that Hulk hadn’t killed anyone (or at least it didn’t look like he had) meant that he was holding back. He wasn’t a mindless beast, they’d seen that much during the last two invasions. There was something like a heart in there somewhere. _Bruce_ was in there somewhere.

Clint spoke quietly, just to him. “I need to take care of this,” he said, looking him directly in the eye. “But I could use a little help keeping the crowd entertained. Whaddaya say, Jade Jaws? Will you help me?”

The Hulk growled some more, so Clint thought he’d sweeten the deal just that little bit more.

“You can owe me an ass-kicking, just let me save the day this once, huh?” he said.

Clint read the next grunt as a reluctant ‘fine’.

“I owe you. Both of you. I take it ‘don’t kill anyone’ is a given?” Clint had to make sure.

The Hulk, honest to god, _flicked_ him in reply.

“I deserved that,” Clint coughed.

The Hulk twisted round and leapt up towards Iron Man, who narrowly missed getting swatted like an irritating fly. Thor started to swing his hammer to gain momentum, but Clint didn’t stick around to watch the show, as spectacular as it would be. Somewhere in the midst of the chaos, he had happened upon the beginnings of an idea.

Clint slipped through the nearest exit, following his gut. It was a hunch, but it was something. The clues had been right in front of him. He’d been on the verge of it when he’d turned down the dead end right before his capture. The corridor was unfinished, still under construction. So was the tower. It was the perfect camouflage.

Clint ran by a control panel mounted on the wall. The panels were commonplace all over Stark Tower. They controlled the areas in their vicinity but could be used to talk to JARVIS, among things. Clint would have used one in a heartbeat before, had it not been a great big ‘I AM HERE, COME GET SOME’ alarm to the security teams. Since it didn’t really matter now the Avengers and most of the security teams were tied up with the Hulk, Clint entered his access code.

“JARVIS, you there?”

Clint was disheartened by the flashing red borders, but held out hope for a response.

“I am, Agent Barton,” JARVIS replied. “Though I have been given strict instructions not to aid you in any way.”

Clint half-smiled. JARVIS wouldn’t be talking to him at all if there weren’t some leeway in his ‘strict instructions’.

“Yeah, yeah. Listen, it’s an emergency. Are there any locations underneath the arc reactor still under construction? Corridors, storage closets, toilets, I don’t care, anything.”

JARVIS hesitated for a moment – except AIs didn’t hesitate. People hesitated. JARVIS performed thousands and complex equations every second, and Clint could only imagine that was what he was doing in the moment of silence before he presented a map on the screen. It showed the sub-levels, and several locations highlighted in light blue.

“Thanks, buddy,” Clint said, memorising the map.

“Naturally, I will have to inform Mr. Stark of your location and goal,” JARVIS told him.

“Be my guest. He’s a little busy right now.”

“Good luck, Sir.”

Clint didn’t know much about the finer details of artificial intelligence; but he did know he was starting to like this one.

It didn’t take him long to find it, if you didn’t count the entire precursor to the map thing. Two levels down, below the arc reactor. The room housed numerous grandiose servers, for Tony’s private networks no doubt. The key fact was there had been recent construction there. It still smelled faintly of paint and raw building materials. This had to be it. Clint walked slowly around the room, looking for the right spot; the place where he knew his Loki-fuelled alter-ego researched, sought out, carefully constructed and concealed a bomb. The fear in Natasha’s voice when she told him, the huge operation to locate the stolen materials, the fact they were underneath the arc reactor – Clint dreaded to think what damage Stark’s explosives could wreak. A device at the heart of Stark Tower. Loki wanted to hurt them all, and Clint had found him a way.

Clint tried to focus. Though he hadn’t accessed any of his hidden memories, Clint felt like he was in the right place. If anyone asked, he wouldn’t have been able to explain it. He ran his fingers along the wall, feeling for a bump, a flaw, a tell. At the end of the wall his nail slipped into a small crack. Clint studied the wall. It was almost perfectly smooth, like it was supposed to be. He rapped his knuckles against it for confirmation. It sounded like there was a cavity behind it, not too deep but still there. Almost certain he’d found the device, Clint knew he now had to uncover it without setting off any triggers he’d left behind. It was a strange thing, to have to get into his own head to undo his own actions. _What Would Hawkeye Do?_

Using a passcard stashed in Robert’s stolen gear, Clint ran it along the groove he’d found. Clint clutched at a whisper of déjà vu. It wasn’t exactly a flood of recollection but it would have to do. With this and logical thinking, Clint determined the panel itself wasn’t rigged. The bomb wasn’t on a timer or it would have gone off by now, which meant at some point he’d have to return to it and finish the job. Clint applied more force to the linear crack, which ran two metres from the floor, then along and back down. Along the top line was a small crevice, a hold for someone to remove the panel.

Clint stopped and wiped the sweat from his brow. He’d come this far, there was no going back now. He turned away from the wall to jam the door to the room closed. It wouldn’t stop any of the Avengers, but any stragglers late to the Hulk party might be directed towards his location and Clint couldn’t afford any interruptions. This was it.

Clint carefully removed the panel, just a slip, and checked for triggers. There were none. When the section of wall came away and let the light it, he saw it. The culmination of weeks of blackouts, paranoia and mind-fuckery.

_Well, shit._

The explosives were in liquid form. Two separate containers, smallish, about the size of a bottle of coke. Each of them was surrounded by enough wires, circuitry and other technical bullshit to give Clint one hell of a headache. And there he was thinking cutting the red wire would do the trick. _Remember when this plan was all noble and seemed like a good idea? Happy days._

Clint knew it would take more time than he had to simply figure out the puzzle in front of him. Clint built the damn thing and somewhere in his head was the knowledge he needed to disarm it. But he had been stood up by the flash of inspiration he’d been waiting for and déjà vu and educated guesses weren’t going to cut it.

Clint had bought time using chaos as currency. He’d unleashed the Hulk on his friends and co-workers, pissed away his career most likely. To come this far and give up wasn’t an option, but Clint was seriously lacking in those. There was only one he could see and it was leather-clad, frequently strutting around in a green cape. Unfavourable and definitely a bad idea, but it was the only one he had.

There was nothing left to do. Clint took one last free breath and savoured it. Then he closed his eyes and let the walls he’d built inside his head fall away.

“I wasn’t expecting an invitation to watch the fireworks. How thoughtful.”

Clint opened his eyes. Loki stood between him and the bomb, his pale face sporting the standard better-than-thou sneer.

“You’re not here to watch,” Clint told him. He deliberately refrained from stepping back or looking away. He had to hold his ground, physically and mentally. “I brought you back so you can tell me how to stop this.”

Loki laughed. He was nothing if not predictable. “My word may not count for much, but when I told you people were going to die, it was no word of a lie.”

“I pushed you out of my head and I brought you back. I’m in control. Give me the memories I need.”

“You think you’re in control?” Loki returned deviously. He started to circle like a panther stalking his prey. “You built this for me,” he said, gesturing to the bomb. “And you will trigger it. All I have to do is whisper in your ear. It’s all I’ve ever had to do.”

Clint had expected this and he was ready for it. “Then why haven’t you done it yet?” he bit. It was a risk, he knew, to taunt the echo of an evil god inside his head, but when Loki faltered Clint knew he had him.

“I’ve been in Stark Tower for a fucking ice age looking for this thing. You could have lead me straight to it and we’d have a goddamn building on top of us by now, mission accomplished.”

Loki might have hesitated but it was far from submission. He wasn’t ready to give up. “I suppose I could have,” Loki replied. “But this way was so much more entertaining. Allowing you to get here under the mistaken belief that you were going to save your friends, that you’d subdued me with your small mind tricks.”

Clint stood firm. “Oh, so you led me here? Spare me.”

“I never stopped whispering in your ear. All it took was the hint of impending danger to make your desire to escape impossible to deny. You performed admirably.”

Clint went to deny him again but Loki continued.

“Setting the monster on your friends – that was a nice touch. Now they will die with your betrayal fresh in their minds. The survivors will remember you just the way you are. Broken,” he said almost hissing. “ _Weak._ Responsible for as many deaths as any enemy.”

“No-one’s going to die,” Clint stated.

Loki shook his head. “That is beyond your control.”

Clint chuckled despite himself. “Then what the hell are you still talking to me for?” he asked incredulously. He was beginning to see through Loki’s threats. “Why don’t you take over? Whisper in my ear, make me do it. I’m waiting,” Clint goaded.

Nothing happened. It was the sweetest nothing Clint could have imagined. He finally got it. He finally saw what Loki was, or rather, what he wasn’t. He wasn’t the real God of Mischief - he’d even said so himself – he was an echo. Loki was on Asgard, imprisoned and impotent. Whatever shadow left behind didn’t have any real power anymore; only the power Clint gave him. Past all the rage and heartbreak and malevolence, he was a child. A kid in the back seat of a car, his only arsenal being his words and maybe a little seat-kicking. Clint was the one driving.

Loki frowned. It was a delectable pleasure to see.

“Even if you subconsciously got me here, it doesn’t matter. You might have done this while I slept,” Clint said, nodding towards the bomb, “but you can’t control me now. You could have ‘whispered in my ear’ and told me to shoot Thor, kill Wilde and the others, snap Bruce’s neck in the elevator, but you couldn’t make me. You’re not strong enough. You’d need to shout, not whisper, you’d need to scream my head apart to make me kill my friends. Closest you got was a poor attempt at shoulder surgery on an orderly and breaking Stark’s nose, which someone was bound to do eventually anyway. Lacklustre, man. Now you expect me to set this thing off? I don’t think so.”

Clint could tell the upper hand was his. He could practically see Loki squirming, though he tried to hide it with seething anger. The manifestation suddenly lunged forward but Clint was ready. He grinned and Loki simply fell through him like he wasn’t there. Clint turned around and quickly moved to pin Loki to the closed door. Truth be told, he wasn’t a hundred per cent sure it was going to work, but it did and he’d be damned if the Loki didn’t look terrified for the briefest of moments. The expression disappeared in the same short time, but Clint had seen it and it couldn’t be undone.

Loki’s eyes were manic. “Listen carefully, you arrogant fool,” he hissed.

Clint smacked his head on the door to interrupt. “No, _you_ listen,” he returned. “You’re done. You’re not strong enough, you never were. The real Loki is rotting in some cell on Asgard waiting for what I can only hope and pray is a fitting punishment for his supreme assholery. He wasn’t strong enough to succeed, and you’re just the _stain_ he left behind. You’re nothing. That’s why I’m still here,Stark Tower’s still here, and you’re gonna give me what I want. _I_ am in control. You’re _my_ puppet, not the other way around. So before you leave, and - please wipe your feet on the way out - you’re going to show me exactly what I need to know to deactivate this bomb. You’re gonna show me without another goddamn lie because I _own you._ Do you hear me? I own you.”

As soon as the last words left Clint’s lips, he breathed like he was free again. Loki’s ghost might have still been standing in front of him, but he was defeated. Loki was silent, deflated and lacking in any of the dramatic grandeur that had always followed his wake. He might as well have ditched the leather armour and cape and put on a poncho. If there had been time, Clint might have set his mind to that particular revenge fantasy but as it happened, Loki had heeded his words and disappeared.

Only a second or two passed before the influx of memories began and they hit Clint with a hell of a force. It seemed Loki’s parting gift was as Clint had ordered, but it was accompanied by a blinding pain that brought him to his knees. The memories flooded Clint’s brain with such overwhelming force it was a miracle he managed to stay conscious.

Everything came back. Hacking into Tony’s security, rigging the experiment, stealing the explosives. Doing all of this fuelled by the same anger and hatred that Loki had planted in him, _wishing_ to hurt and maim and destroy. It was coming back out of sequence, all at once. He remembered breaking Tony’s nose, threatening Marlowe, slamming Natasha’s head into the table. He remembered stabbing the doctor, raging to be set free, studying blueprints to choose the best location for a bomb. Clint now knew exactly how he had constructed the bomb in front of him, and the damage it could do.

When it was over it took a minute for Clint to regain his senses. Loki was gone. Clint knew it this time. No hiding, no lying in wait. It was as if someone had been choking him since Manhattan, and the grip had finally been released. The darkness had lifted and there was clarity left behind. Though his body and mind ached from the onslaught, he was free.

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

“Hey, Bruce, you alright?”

The anger was getting further and further away.

“Ground control to Major Tom, stay with me, buddy.”

Fuzzy-headed and struggling to wake, Bruce concluded that it was Tony crouched beside him, but something wasn’t right. If anyone was Major Tom, it was Tony, not the other way round.

Bruce managed to mumble something unintelligible, then broke into a cough. It felt like there was dust in his lungs, and for a good reason: there was. Finally managing to force his eyes open, Bruce immediately clocked the arc reactor in the middle of the room, sitting in a pool of destruction. He was at Stark Tower. Dust. Debris. Destruction. Iron Man. _Oh no, no, no._ Clint had triggered the change, and the Hulk…  Panic tried to rise but it was muted, held back by the drugs they’d no doubt taken the Hulk down with.

Bruce succeeded in only half sentences. “How -? Clint…”

Tony seemed to understand regardless. “He’s okay. I think. Mind if I give you a rundown on the move? ‘Cause we’re kinda strapped for time, buddy.”

Without waiting for an answer, Bruce was unceremoniously pulled from the floor, almost losing his lunch in the process. Tony was soon acting as a crutch for his sea legs and they were on the move, a little too fast for Bruce’s liking.

“What’s the rush?” Bruce managed to utter. He noticed for the first time since waking that he was wearing a technician’s lab coat. Tony must have put it round him. As grateful as Bruce was, he couldn’t help wishing for some shoes as he waded through debris with bare feet. Luckily he managed to avoid anything sharp and they were soon out of where the action had (apparently) taken place.

“JARVIS, clear path, please?”

Bruce didn’t hear the Brit’s response.

“Ah, let’s see,” Tony started, not slowing down. “Hawkface took my stuff, built a bomb, escaped to either set it off or disarm it, we’re not exactly clear on that part. We did the assembling thing, only your less handsome half decided to play wild card and switch sides.”

It had taken some effort but Bruce had been paying ardent attention, or trying to at least. Tony did talk pretty quickly. “Did I hurt anyone?” he asked.

It felt like Tony shrugged, but it was hard to tell with the suit on. “You threw your toys out of the pram but we’re all fine…ish,” he said cheerily.

Though Bruce didn’t like the sound of the ‘ish’ at the end, he was still tremendously relieved to hear everyone was okay. Was it a miracle or something even more bizarre? Clint had not only managed to survive being the target of the Hulk’s wrath, he’d actually talked the monster into helping him? Had Bruce’s feelings for Clint bled into Hulk’s mind, or was it an independent relationship? A friendship? The subject would merit further thought if they all got out of this mess alive. Which reminded him…

“So where are we going?” Bruce asked, realising he still had no idea.

“Oh, right,” Tony said, before stopping dead in his tracks. Some SHIELD agents ran past the junction in the corridor in front of them. They didn’t seem to notice the man in the overbearing suit of red and gold metal or the half naked scientist on his arm. They must have had more important things to worry about, which was worrying in itself.

Tony continued talking when they started moving again. “Once we took the Hulk down Fury ordered that I had to bring you outside so SHIELD could take you into custody.”

“Oh,” Bruce said, deflated.

“That’s not where we’re going.”

“Oh,” Bruce repeated, surprised this time. That accounted for the whole avoiding SHIELD agents thing.

“The others went to find Barton,” Tony explained. “I didn’t think you’d want to miss the grand finale since you kinda missed the whole middle part back there.”

“Thanks,” he said. He meant it. Even with his head stuffed with cotton Bruce knew that Tony was doing something above and beyond the necessary. “Clint wasn’t under Loki’s influence. At least I don’t think he was,” Bruce said, mostly conversing with his own fear. “What do you think he’s gonna do?”

“Honestly? I have no idea,” Tony replied. “But if he saves the day I’m gonna kick his ass. Break my nose and try to blow up my tower? Rude. I’m starting to get a complex.”

“Starting to?”

“Point taken.”

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

Clint could feel the blood running from his nose but he ignored it as he pulled himself across the floor, the bomb in his sights. He hauled himself up until he was level with it – not an easy feat with a bad shoulder and knees that wanted nothing to do with entire affair. It took a steady hand and all the mental strength he had left to undo the work he and Loki had done. There were a dozen booby traps and tripwires to disarm before he could make the device safe, some of which Clint could have predicted, some of which were beyond him. Loki’s ideas, he suspected. But after using all his remaining stregth to stay awake and alert, Clint finally, mercifully, succeeded.

There was no satisfying beep, no computerised female voice announcing it had been disarmed, not even a counter that stopped two seconds before detonation. The least Clint would have liked was a sigh of relief all round as he reported his success, but he supposed he’d miss that. The pure relief of Loki’s exodus and the exhaustion from the past few weeks finally caught up to him as he collapsed against the wall, his prize – one deactivated bomb, no waiting – behind him like an installation at a post-modern art gallery.

He should probably open the door, he thought, but a thought was all it was. Clint had nothing left to give. It took his last remaining ounce of strength to wipe his bloody nose. He stared at the red on his hand then let it drop to his side. Darkness was starting to edge its way into his vision. His eyelids were sagging. The notion that he might be dying entered his head and caused a surge of anger.

Dying… dying would _suck_. To come this far and just die? No, not happening. Clint had shit to do. The big ones were top of the list, of course - apologise and beg for forgiveness, earn back the trust of his friends and SHIELD and Fury, however long it took. All that stuff was a given. He needed to hold his bow again, have a beer, pee without mental company, see how Fringe ended. The little things.

And then, in a category all of his own, was Bruce. Bruce needed a novel of an apology, and even that wouldn’t be enough. Clint had messed up, bad, but if there was even the slightest chance of a future together, Clint wanted to be around to pursue it - even if it was via Skype from the padded cell in Antarctica Fury was going to throw him in for his dickery.

Even Antarctica was a better option than dying.

Clint’s last thought, surpassing deep and thoughtful insight, was, in fact:

_If I wake up dead, I’m going to be so pissed._

End of Chapter Sixteen

 


	17. Are We Screwed?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the lovely kudos and comments! It really makes my day :D
> 
> Gonna hit my target of 18 chapters, but I might just cheat and make it extra long!

Everything felt suspiciously like a dream. Not in the tacky, become an astronaut, win an Oscar kind of way, but in the sense that Bruce was experiencing events on a slight delay and as if he were behind clouded glass. He had to tell himself repeatedly that things were really happening, though he wasn’t entirely sure that was the truth.

“What are you doing here, Tony? You’re supposed to be topside right now,” Steve demanded when Bruce and Tony caught up with the rest of the group. His annoyance seemed real enough.

“Huh, guess we got turned around,” Tony replied. He almost took the lead, but seemed to think better of it at the last moment.

Steve didn’t seem best pleased but didn’t break his purposeful stride. “In your own - you know what, never mind. Bruce, are you alright?”

“Ish,” Bruce replied, when he eventually realised the question was directed at him. On seeing the state of the others he understood what Tony had meant by the suffix when he’d asked after them. Thor and the Captain were battered and bruised, hints of blood and tears in their clothes, but the Widow looked like she had fared worst out of all of them. Bruce felt the guilt surge inside him. He knew Natasha had a problem with the Hulk unlike any of the others, and today’s events were bound to do their own special damage to that situation. Despite all this, when she saw him and Tony she moved in to help. No-one could fault Natasha for lack of professionalism.

“Are you okay?” Bruce asked her. Seeing the battle scars of their bout with the Hulk had sobered him somewhat.

“Yeah, don’t worry about it,” she dismissed.

“This is it,” Steve said, stopping outside a closed door. If Bruce’s sense of direction had not failed him, the room was almost directly underneath the arc reactor. This did not bode well.

“Clint Barton, can you hear me?” Thor bellowed as he tried the door.

There was no reply. Bruce felt his heart sink. Reality was catching up with him as his immune system fought the drugs.

Steve gave a nod and Thor made quick work of the door, kicking it open in one blow.

Thor and Steve exchanged a look that Bruce was not yet up to deciphering. The pair disappeared inside.

“Is he there? Is he okay?” Bruce asked.

“He’s here,” Steve replied, “so is the bomb. Stark, take a look at this.”

Bruce didn’t like lack of answer to his second question one bit. He was about to repeat himself Thor emerged with Clint’s limp body slung over his shoulder like a rag doll. The short moment between this event and Thor assuring everyone that Clint was alive was one of the worst of Bruce’s life.

Thor carefully propped the unconscious archer up against the wall. He looked bad. His face was covered in bruises and blood from his nose. His arm was torn up and black and blue around the shoulder. Maybe the Hulk had taken more convincing to help than Bruce first assumed.

“I’m okay, Tony, go,” Bruce told him. He had a little more strength now and Thor was there to catch him if Natasha couldn’t hold his weight.

Tony nodded. Bruce managed to kneel beside Clint with Natasha’s help. She stepped over the lifeless Avenger to crouch the other side of him. She checked Clint’s pupils and pulse, her hand lingering in his as she pulled away. Bruce knew she was just as worried as he was, though she had an infinitely better poker face.

“Pupils are okay, pulse is steady,” she said, adding something in Russian under her breath. She got no response to the comment, whatever it was.

Bruce’s mind was alert enough now to be running away with possibilities. Clint’s nose had bled before when he’d experienced a Loki-induced episode. Had Clint blacked out again, lost a battle for control? Or was it simply a bang on the head courtesy of the Hulk?

“He has come this far, he is strong,” Thor said by way of reassurance, towering over the three of them.

Tash turned to the open doorway. Bruce realised he could see into the room now from his new position. The wall directly opposite the door was removed, revealing the large device that had been the subject of so much distress; two cylinders filled with what Bruce assumed to be the explosives in question, sitting in a bed of wires, switches and other worrying paraphernalia. It looked like it could do some serious damage. Since it hadn’t detonated yet, either Clint had achieved what Bruce hoped he’d set out to do and disarmed it, or he’d passed out before he was able to set it off.  The more worrying possibility of a timed delay entered Bruce’s mind as well.

“What’s the status in there?” Tasha called. “Are we screwed?”

“Give us a second,” Steve called. He was standing to the side, giving Tony space to examine the device. “Is it safe?” he asked.

Bruce wasn’t sure but he thought he heard Tony say ‘I think so’ in response, which didn’t inspire much confidence.

Apparently Steve felt the same way. “You think so?” he repeated incredulously. “You’re gonna need to do better than ‘I think so.’ You disobeyed orders to follow us, you could at least-”

“I told you, we got lost!” Tony lied. “There are a lot of twists and turns down here.”

“Tony. The bomb.”

“Right. Well, I mean this isn’t even connected to anything any more, so,” Tony said, casually removing one of the cylinders from the wall and causing everyone in the vicinity to have a small heart attack. “I’m going to go out on a limb and say Barton did good.”

Bruce was just about done at having emotional daggers hurled at him. ‘Become an Avenger,’ they said, ‘help save the world,’ they said, ‘have your heart torn up in new and exciting ways every ten minutes,’ they failed to mention. He turned back to Clint, who was still out of it. Whatever happened along the way, the bomb was disarmed. He’d done what he’d set out to do and it must have taken one hell of an effort judging by the state of him.  Bruce hoped Clint’s unconsciousness was simply down to exhaustion and not anything more serious. Whatever the reason, he would feel better once Clint was being taken care of by medical professionals. Bruce could use a bed himself.

Natasha gave Fury a situation report as Tony and Steve joined them in the corridor that was, frankly, on the small side for six Avengers.

“Well, this was fun,” Tony said, clanging the suit’s metal hands together. “How’s our wayward soldier?”

“I don’t know,” Natasha told him. “We need to get him to the medics.”

“I will take him,” Thor offered. He effortlessly scooped Clint up over his shoulder again, avoiding the arm that looked banged up.

“How about you, Bruce?” Steve asked.

“I could use a couple of hours of sleep, or twelve. And maybe some pants would be nice,” Bruce said sheepishly.

Steve outstretched a hand to help him up. The gesture meant a lot to Bruce. He took it and was soon on his feet.

“Sorry about my part in this. I hope I – _we_ didn’t cause too much trouble.”

“Worry not, Bruce Banner!” Thor exclaimed. “The Hulk is quite a match but we prevailed in time.”

“And it’s never too early for a refit, right?” Tony chimed in. There was no ill will, no snide tone in his voice. It was remarkable.

Natasha, by some feat he’d never understand, handed him his glasses. Where she had obtained them, he had no idea. Bruce knew in their own small ways they had forgiven him. Bruce wondered if they would show the same allowances to Clint. There were differences in their cases, of course. There was the issue of choice and of control. Bruce had lost it. Clint, as far as he could tell, had kept his. But had the end justified the means? The answer wasn’t immediately obvious, or at least it wasn’t to Bruce, but his mind was still sluggish and he decided any further pondering could wait.

Natasha finished talking to Fury and returned to the group. “Medical team’s waiting up top. Everyone but the bomb squad is clearing out.”

“Tell them to bring a dustpan and a broom or something,” Tony said.

It didn’t escape Bruce that Natasha hadn’t mentioned the team waiting team waiting to take him into custody. It was a reasonable reaction and nothing new, so Bruce wasn’t too concerned.  Solitary confinement actually sounded quite relaxing after everything that had happened. As long as Clint was alright, of course.

When they saw the sun again, the streets were devoid of life, save the handful of SHIELD personnel waiting by a group of vehicles. They didn’t look particularly interested in taking anyone into custody.

It was strange to see the bustling city so empty. Tony seemed disappointed at the lack of media and adoring fans. Bruce was grateful.

Thor met with the EMTs who were waiting with a gurney for any injuries. Clint was obviously at the head of the line. Everyone else dismissed any attention, all eyes and ears on their friend and colleague. The two paramedics didn’t say anything too alarming while they performed their checks. They said something about getting him back to base, though Bruce wasn’t sure which base they’d be referring to. He still didn’t know how badly the Hulk had torn up the one they had come from, but Bruce spied someone who might know out the corner of his eye. The Director got out of one of the vehicles, Agent Hill in tow. He was relieved to see both of them unharmed.

Hill broke off to organise some of the other troops. Fury had a brief word with one of the EMTs, then approached his team.

It was impossible to tell what was going through Fury’s head. His ears weren’t shooting steam, so that was a good sign.

“Gentlemen, Agent Romanoff,” he greeted. “Since you’re still standing can I assume you’re all in good health?”

“We’re all fine, Sir,” Steve said.

“Nothing like a few rounds with the Hulk to remind you you’re still human,” Tony said, then squinted, “or super human, or a god,” he added. He seemed all too happily for a man whose brand new tower had just been torn up for the third time in two months.

“Agent Hill is going to stay here to wait for the bomb squad to give the all clear, then we can start bringing people back into the area. I want you all back to base while we clean up this mess. Since the nearest base needs some _remodelling_ ,” Fury said, glancing at Bruce, “we’re reconvening at our secondary facility. Romanoff has the location.”

“I already got it programmed into my sat nav,” Stark dismissed.

Fury’s eye twitched.

“Is that where they’re taking Clint?” Bruce asked.

“For now,” Fury replied, somewhat ominously. “As for you, Doctor, if you wouldn’t mind riding with me?”

“Uh, sure,” Bruce said warily. Fury was already walking towards the car.

“I’ll ride with Clint, you guys can follow the ambulance,” Natasha said. She put a hand on Bruce’s arm. “I’ll contact you if anything happens, I promise,” she added, just for him.

Bruce thanked her and left the others to argue over who was riding with whom and what method of transport they should choose. The last thing he heard was Steve voting against flying, since Tony kept pretending to drop him every time he gave him a ride.

Fury was waiting by the black humvee, talking to Agent Hill. When he saw Bruce approaching he pulled a bag from inside the car and handed it to him. It was a spare set of clothes. Bruce thanked him and put them on in the car. Fury joined him when he was decent, silently signalled to the driver to get moving, and they were away.

“Are we going to another version of that cage you had Loki in?” Bruce asked nervously. It was the most obvious reason for wanting to separate him from the others. But there were only the four of them in the vehicle, including the driver and passenger. Not nearly enough for a ‘situation’, should one arise. The drugs in his system were wearing off already, though Bruce still felt somewhat light-headed.

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Fury replied.

“Oh,” Bruce said. “When Tony said there was a team waiting for me I assumed…”

“I dismissed them when Romanoff told me the situation was under control,” Fury explained. “It was a precaution. I hope you understand.”

“I do,” Bruce confirmed, making a mental note to thank Natasha for that.

Fury was oddly calm, considering. Though Clint would be the obvious focal point of the Director’s anger, Bruce had expected at least a little animosity for his own role in the debacle.

“Is everyone back at the base alright? I don’t remember much,” Bruce asked.

“No serious injuries reported,” Fury told him. “Which is part of the reason you’re not headed to lockdown right now.”

This was what Bruce had been waiting for.

“Bruce. Obviously this relationship is still new,” Fury began. “Incidents like this were always on the table, I’m sure neither of us had any doubts about that.”

Bruce’s eyes widened, until he realised Fury was talking about his relationship with SHIELD, not with Clint. He hoped the Director hadn’t noticed.

“I also realise Agent Barton was instrumental in your change today,” Fury continued. “Which concerns me.”

Bruce stayed silent.

“I’m aware of your relationship. Like I told Barton, I don’t care who’s dating who, I’ll leave that to the internet. What I do care about is the safety of my agents and the residents of this city. Directing SHIELD, keeping The Avengers in check and managing all the shit I can’t tell you about is a full time, double time, overtime job. To be frank, I don’t have any more of the stuff to spend worrying about a lover’s tiff that could level a city block.”

Bruce would be lying if he said he hadn’t considered the hypothetical situation, and worse ones. It was one of the reasons, one of the _huge_ reasons why he’d been reluctant to start anything with anyone, let alone a fellow Avenger.

“Now, I don’t know if things would have gone differently had you not been personally involved,” Fury continued. “Maybe it wouldn’t have made a damned bit of difference. But regardless of what happened today, I need to know you can handle what you’re getting into.”

“Believe me, anything you’ve thought of, it’s already been through my mind, and worse,” Bruce said. It was strange to hear his own concerns voiced by someone else. The other Avengers had accepted him for what he was, welcomed him as part of the team. Even the other SHIELD agents he’d met hardly batted an eyelid when they saw him. Bruce hadn’t gotten used to that complacency by any means. He should have expected a ‘chat’ to come at some point. Fury was SHIELD’s Director after all; it was his job to know everything and react accordingly. Apparently he’d already talked to Clint, though Clint hadn’t mentioned it.  It was well within Fury’s power to order Clint to call it off, but evidently he hadn’t, despite what was technically a huge, unnecessary security risk. Fury had gone up in Bruce’s estimations because of that.

This fact didn’t make the conversation any less awkward, however. Bruce had never liked talking about his personal life. He rarely did unless pushed to do so, but apparently there was no escaping it this time. Fury needed an answer and Bruce was, for once, confident that he had one.

He _could_ handle it.

If there was some future where everything turned out okay, where Clint was free from Loki, and Bruce could trust him again, he wanted that. He would fight for that. Even in spite of all the terrible parts, the months since Natasha had lured him out to that house in India had been the best he’d had in a long, long time. He was sure now more than ever that he wanted to stay.

“I can handle it,” he assured Fury. “I mean, obviously today wasn’t such a great example of that,” Bruce added, not so confidently, “but there were… exceptional circumstances.”

“You’re Avengers” Fury replied. “Your lives are exceptional circumstances.”

Bruce couldn’t help a small smile. “Yeah, you have a point there,” he said. “Look, I… I can’t tell you I know what’s going to happen. I can’t promise complete control over the Hulk, I never could. But whatever happens in the near future, I truly believe there’s no better place for me and the Other Guy than here with the Avengers. I think he’s starting to know that too. So when I say I can handle it, it means I will do everything in my power to make this work, and if that’s not enough… then I’ll do whatever I need to do.”

For a long moment Fury’s face did not change, then slowly a smile grew on his lips. “I’m happy to hear you say that, Doctor,” he said. “Perhaps you can help work with us on I’d improving response procedures, implementing early response systems, and anything you think might help make things run a little more smoothly next time.”

Bruce nodded, just happy that he was going to be around for there to be a ‘next time’. “Anything I can do.”

Fury held his hand to his earpiece. “Yes, Agent Romanoff?”

Bruce felt his insides twist. Was she calling about Clint?

“Understood. I’ll pass it on,” Fury said.

“Clint?”

“He regained consciousness for a few seconds.”

“Oh. That’s good,” Bruce said, relief pouring into him. A kernel of doubt still clung, however. “Assuming he didn’t try and kill anyone.”

“Not this time,” Fury replied. “Before he passed out again he was able to tell Agent Romanoff that Loki was gone.”

Bruce hadn’t been expecting that. If Clint had somehow purged Loki for good it was phenomenal news. It would mean getting his life back, as long as Fury would let him have it, of course.

“What’s going to happen to him?” Bruce asked.

“Obviously there’s a long way to go before we can give Barton a clean bill of mental health. As for his conduct,” Fury said with more than a hint of displeasure, “today’s events will be up for review later.”

Bruce felt not unlike a child asking his parents for a treat and being fobbed off with ‘we’ll see.’ It didn’t usually end well. There was a lot to consider, he supposed. Clint had appeared to be acting under his own will, but who was to know what influence Loki had over him. Would the Director grant him leniency for a possibility? Should _Bruce_ grant him the same?

Fury received some reports and dished out orders over his earpiece as they travelled, and it wasn’t long before they arrived at the secondary base. Mercifully it was above ground this time.  Tony, Steve and Thor were already there. Although there was no indication as to how they’d managed it, Steve was looking supremely annoyed, so it was quite possibly they had flown after all.

Bruce only caught a glimpse of Clint, still sleeping as they wheeled him through the doors, more doctors joining the entourage.

“I’ll have the staff give us regular updates on Agent Barton’s condition,” Fury told the group. “In the meantime I need you all cleared medically, so get going, and that’s not a request.”

Sure enough, more personnel appeared to usher all of them inside. It was as much fun as it sounded, getting poked and prodded and scanned for a half hour. As Bruce had been led to believe, no one was too badly injured. Natasha had some cracked ribs and accepted Bruce’s whole-hearted apology. Thor and Steve were already healing from their cuts and bruises. Tony still had his broken nose but no more serious war wounds to add to the tally. They had escaped lightly. As for Bruce, he was advised to get some sleep but politely declined. He didn’t want to miss any updates on Clint’s condition. When he knew Clint was okay, then he could rest properly.

“Hey, what did Fury want with you?” Tony asked, finally bored of arguing with Steve and the unfortunate nurse taking care of him. “Are you grounded or something? Allowance cut off?”

“Nah,” Bruce replied. “Nothing so dramatic.”

“It’s all good then? Hate to lose our team mascot.”

“Are you referring to me or the Hulk?” Bruce asked, pretending to get annoyed.

“Uh, whichever one of you won’t kick my ass for calling you a mascot,” Tony replied quickly. “And did I say mascot? I meant super important team member and all around good guy... most of the time.”

Bruce smiled. “Well, we’d both hate go.”

“Let’s hope Barton’s so lucky,” Tony said more seriously. “He did step on a lot of toes.”

Bruce didn’t reply. After Fury’s worrying lack of hints on the matter of Clint’s fate, it was difficult to predict what the repercussions were going to be. Natasha would probably have a better idea. She’d known the Director for a lot longer.

“You’re clear, Dr. Banner,” the nurse told him. “I must insist you get some rest and eat something though.”

“I will. Soon,” Bruce told her.

She eyed him knowingly, then went on her way. Tony was cleared too, and they soon joined the others for an update. They had all changed into civilian clothes. Bruce always felt a little less insecure when they weren’t dressed in their ass-kicking finery.

“Any news?” Bruce asked before anyone else got the chance.

“I interrogated one of the nurses. They suspect it’s a case of mental and physical exhaustion,” Natasha told them. “They’re taking him for a scan to see if there’s any traces of Loki’s magic left or any damage.”

“You interrogated a nurse?” Steve asked, a little taken aback.

“It’s not like I beat it out of him,” she said, shrugging. “Give me some credit.”

“Did you get his pin number too?” Tony joked.

“Just his phone number,” Natasha replied without missing a beat.

“As I see you’ve already had an update on Agent Barton,” Fury said, practically appearing out of nowhere, “I’ll assume you’re also aware that the bomb has been completely dismantled and the operation is underway to repopulate Stark Tower and the surrounding area.”

“There’s an operation I want to be a part of. Volunteers?” Tony said, never one to miss the opportunity for a lewd joke.

“Since the doctors are telling me some of you are in need of sleep, the debriefing can wait a few hours. I’d advise you take the opportunity while you can. Someone will wake you if there is any news. Thor, a helicopter arrived a few minutes ago carrying Ms. Foster. Agent Macintosh will take you to her.”

“My lady Jane!” Thor exclaimed. His smile was blinding.

“Don’t leave the base,” Fury said, but Thor was practically bounding down the hall already. “Ms. Potts had been informed of our location and will be arriving shortly. See you all in a few hours.” Fury took his leave, patience wearing thin. Bruce wondered idly if he ever had any days off.

As soon as he was gone, Tony chirped up. “Sleep sucks, coffee’s better, who’s with me?”

“Count me in,” Natasha said, a sly grin on her face.

“Coffee sounds like heaven,” Bruce agreed.

Steve shrugged. “I’m wide awake anyway.”

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

Coffee was a spectacular idea. The Avengers, minus Clint and Thor, sat in the cafeteria in comfortable silence for the few minutes before Pepper arrived. Tony filled her in on what she’d missed, with Steve correcting him when he exaggerated. She sounded adequately horrified by most of it, but happy everyone was safe. Every so often her gaze would drift to Bruce and she’d offer a sympathetic smile, and he guessed Tony had filled her about some other things prior to the conversation. He didn’t mind. It wasn’t like he had been planning on making a big announcement.

In fact, Bruce realised he hadn’t planned anything. He still had no idea what he’d even say to Clint when he woke up. Maybe it was because everything else was up in the air – Clint’s health status, what Fury was going to do with him - why not their relationship too, make it a hat trick?

Eventually one of the chief medical staff came to give them the results of the scan. Clint’s head was clear. There was no trace of Loki’s magic, no signs of serious trauma to his brain. Apart from the shoulder injury and the same bruises and abrasions most of the others had suffered thanks to the Hulk, Clint was okay. Everyone was relieved to hear it.

“When will he wake up?” Pepper asked. Though she hadn’t spent much time with Clint, she showed the same concern as anyone else. It was one of her admirable qualities.

“We don’t know,” the doctor replied. “It could be days, he’s been through a lot and we don’t want to wake him before his body is ready.”

“Probably for the best. Fury might calm down in a few days,” Steve said.

“You think?” Tony said dubiously.

Bruce didn’t comment. Such a weight had been lifted now he knew Clint was okay, his body was screaming at him to find a bed, a sofa, a chair, anything to pass out on.

“We have some spare rooms here that you can use if you’d like to stay,” the doctor said, reading his mind – or more likely his body language, Bruce was barely holding his head upright. “I’d talk to the Director if you’d like to leave the base though. Give me or any member of my team a shout if you need anything. We’ll be around twenty-four seven.”

The team dispersed from there. Bruce decided it was wholly appropriate to take the doctor’s advice and find the nearest bed, though he could quite easily just put his head down anywhere. Steve decided to start writing up mission reports despite Tony’s eye-rolling. He and Pepper planned on returning to Stark Tower to sleep (though Tony hoped differently – they _had_ been apart for a few days after all.) Bruce caught up with Natasha in the corridor on his quest for a bed.

“You look like crap, Bruce,” she said. Her tone was warm, though, so Bruce didn’t take it the wrong way. Plus, even without a mirror nearby, Bruce was sure she was right.

“Thanks,” he said, laughing. “Are you sticking around?”

“Yeah, I don’t want to go too far. I thought I’d pass on the news to Thor, and say hi to Jane before they, you know, say hi to each other.”

“Must be nice to have the stamina of a god,” he said, before he realised what that sounded like. “Oh god, I didn’t mean… I meant the not having to sleep much thing, not the other thing.”

Natasha laughed. “Get some sleep, Doc. Trust me, I’ll be doing the same in a little while.”

“Right, yes. Sleep,” Bruce repeated. He really was tremendously tired. “What do you think Fury’s gonna do with Clint when he wakes up?” he asked, suddenly remembering why he’d chased after Tasha in the first place.

She stopped. “Honestly, I don’t know,” she said after a beat. “The fact Manhattan doesn’t have a large chunk out of it is a sign in his favour, and he did have an alien influence in his head. But some of the choices he made back there… were his. At least they seemed to be,” she said.

“And what are _you_ going to do with him?” Bruce asked. It seemed the Russian was just as confused about how to feel as he was. Clint had escaped under Natasha’s watch and then set the Hulk on her. However strong their relationship was, that had to hurt.

“I’ve got a few things in mind,” Natasha said, a curious mix of emotions on her face. “If I told you about them I’d have to kill you,” she added, deadpan.

“Fair enough,” Bruce said, holding his hands up.

“What about you?” she asked. “Do you know how you feel about this whole thing yet?”

Bruce hadn’t expected Natasha to return the question. “Ask again later,” he said after a moment.

Natasha smiled and said good night. It was the middle of the day, but he knew what she meant.

 

End of Chapter Seventeen


	18. Home Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end if nigh! I'm sad and happy that the story is finished. It's been a lot of fun to write, I hope you've had fun reading. Oh and booyah, 18 chapters on the nose, whut. 
> 
> Thanks for the kudos and comments. Love you!

The Devil In Me

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Home Again

 

“Look, point is Hawkface pulled it out of the bag. He was an ass along the way, no-one’s saying he wasn’t, but he got the job done. I might have done the same thing. Probably sooner and with more flair...”

A full twenty-four hours had passed since the Avengers had rolled up to the secondary base, one of them in an ambulance. Clint was still asleep and there had been no changes to his condition. Bruce had slept through the day and night and felt much more human because of it. Unfortunately this meant the time had come for talking. They had been through the debriefing, the ins and outs of what actually happened. Now the discussion was focused on the decisions Clint had made. There had been whispers of sending Clint away, a suspension from the Avengers of sorts. Fury hadn’t mentioned it himself, but the rumour mill was churning as always.

Tony had the floor. “All I’m saying is considering a colossal douchebag like Loki was in his head, he did okay.”

Thor shifted but didn’t argue with the description of his brother.

“He escaped custody, injured numerous SHIELD agents, including yourself, and turned the Hulk on the rest of the Avengers,” Fury summarised plainly.

“Did I not just accurately summarise that with the phrase ‘he was an ass?” Tony asked rhetorically.

Out of everyone in the room, it seemed Fury was predictably the one with the biggest problem with Clint’s conduct. “It was a miracle no-one was killed,” he said.

“No, it wasn’t,” Bruce heard himself say. “It wasn’t a miracle; it was Clint.” He hadn’t spoken much since the meeting began, apart from telling the parts of the story he remembered. He had been trying to figure out his own feelings about Clint’s actions, and come to no conclusions yet, but he was starting to make progress. “He was in control. We’d been working on it for days, he had a good handle on it. A lot of people would have died if he hadn’t. He knew what he was doing.” Bruce said.

“That’s what worries me,” Fury retorted. “I would have thought you would be the last person defending Barton after what he put you through, Dr. Banner.”

“He was… ‘an ass’ to us all,” Bruce replied, using Tony’s term when his own brain failed to think of an alternative. “I’m not saying forgiving all that is going to be easy, but Tony has a point. Even if Loki wasn’t pulling strings, Clint got the job done. He did what he needed to do, or undid it. I’m not sure anyone here would make a different choice in the same situation.”

Thor unfolded his arms and leaned forward. He had apparently been giving the matter some thought as well. “As far as I can see it, Clint Barton did escape a facility full of trained soldiers, slipped past yet more agents to access Stark Tower, then convinced the Hulk, of all creatures, to assist him in distracting us while he righted the wrongs he had committed under my brother’s influence. All the while fighting a battle within his mind.” Thor certainly had a way with words. “He is truly a fierce warrior.”

“I think what our burly friend is saying is; there’s a reason Barton’s an Avenger,” Tony said. “Kid’s got skills.”

“And you have no problem with those skills being used against you?” Fury asked.

Tony shrugged. “Every family has its fights. Ours are just a little more on the epic side.”

Bruce felt a smile pull at his lips. Tony referring to the team as a family, and so casually, was kind of heart-warming.

“Agent Romanoff? Captain? You want to weigh in on this?” Fury challenged, perhaps expecting to have had some more back-up.

“Barton disobeyed standing orders and put a lot of people’s lives at risk,” Steve began, and for a moment Bruce thought he might be with Fury. “But he did what he thought was right. I have to respect that. I know there was a lot at stake…”

“Damn right there was a lot at stake. Hundreds, maybe thousands of civilian casualties, not to mention _your_ lives.”

“We’re all still standing and so is Stark Tower. Even if we weren’t, I still agree he made a good call. Thor’s right, I don’t think we can afford to lose him.”

“Sir, Barton’s a pain in the ass, but he’s our pain in the ass.” Natasha added, succinct as ever. “He did what he did to save lives. He knew what he was risking, he knew we’d be sitting here having this discussion. I don’t think a suspension is going to do any good for anyone.”

“Well, it seems you’re all in agreement,” Fury said, trademark underlying anger in his tone. “Far be it from me to override the consensus. However, Barton is still on lockdown until we’re sure Loki’s magic isn’t going to resurface. He’s not going to be joining you for some time, and that is not a matter up for debate.”

There was a tense silence. Technically it wasn’t a suspension but it sounded as bad. Going back to the cell wasn’t something any of them liked to think about. The next one would probably have even tighter security, considering Clint was able to break out of it with relative ease.

“How long?” Natasha asked.

“At least a month,” Fury replied definitively. “If that goes by without incident, he can rejoin the Avengers under supervision.”

“Whose supervision?” Bruce asked, wanting to clarify.

“All of you. You want him back on the team, you take responsibility.”

“Understood,” Steve agreed on behalf of everyone.

Bruce didn’t mind the proposed probation part of the deal, but there were a lot of disturbing possibilities when it came to the confinement aspect. “Where will he be going in the meantime?” he asked.

“We have a few options in mind with…” Fury started, but Tony interrupted before he could continue.

“Uh, I’ve actually been working on something that might make the situation a little more comfortable for all parties, actually,” Tony said.

“You have?” Bruce asked, surprised.

“Yeah. Let me call Pepper, make sure everything’s set up, then you can see what you think, but there’s no way you’re not gonna love it.” Tony seemed to direct that last part at Bruce, along with the glint of mischievousness in his eye.

“Alright, you’ve piqued my curiosity,” Fury said. “Dismissed. We’ll reconvene in five for Mr. Stark’s surprise, god help us.”

Bruce hung back while the others filed out of the room, a sneaking suspicion weighing on him.

“You were never going to suspend Clint, were you?” he asked Fury.

Bruce had suspected that the rumours were just that, and Fury had just been constructing the whole thing – creating a situation where the other Avengers had to back Clint up or lose him. If that was the case, he was good. Everyone had bought into it; even Bruce had been taken in. From everything he knew and everything he’d heard, it wasn’t beyond Fury to manipulate them in such a way.

Fury gave nothing away as he gathered the reports from the table. “I have no idea what you’re insinuating, Doctor,” he replied blankly.

Bruce didn’t press it further. It didn’t matter in the end; the team was still together. It was a fine endgame but it still left Bruce with his own feelings up in the air. So far he had been avoiding thinking about them, waiting for Clint to wake up in the hopes he’d magically have something to say to make it all better. As plans went it wasn’t a particularly solid one. Bruce decided instead to meditate. He hadn’t had the chance in a while, and he needed it. He’d find a quiet space somewhere, but not before finding out what Tony had been working on.

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

Four days later, a ray of sunshine pierced Clint’s eyelid and infiltrated his sleep. The archer groaned and threw his arm over his face in a vain effort to deny it. It was some minutes later that Clint realised both these simple facts had much larger ramifications. For one, he didn’t remember being woken by the sun in a long time. His arm was free, which meant… what did it mean? His head was muzzy, like he was drunk but didn’t recall drinking. Spotty memories and bad feelings dripped into his head and confusion followed them. This wasn’t right. He wasn’t supposed to be free, was he? He’d jarred his shoulder, but it felt fine. The sun…

Opening his eyes was a feat. The light gave him an instant headache but it dulled after a few seconds of blinking. Clint had no idea where he was but it certainly wasn’t a hospital room or a cell. He forced himself to sit up in what turned out to be a king sized bed, sat facing a large, stylishly decorated room he did not recognise.

It didn’t feel like a dream, although the appearance of a blonde, attractive nurse certainly suggested it could be one.

“Agent Barton, you’re awake!” she exclaimed.

“Am I?” Clint asked, genuinely undecided.

“I’m trained nurse, I can assure you I recognise the signs,” she smiled, and started adjusting some medical equipment beside Clint’s bed. He hadn’t noticed it until now.

“I take it I’m not dead then,” he concluded.

The nurse confirmed his theory. “Not dead.”

“So this is… Antarctica?” Clint guessed. If he wasn’t dead, he had to be in Antarctica. It was the only reason he’d be unrestrained and… and in a comfy bed alone with a hot nurse? No, the dead thing felt more plausible.

The nurse pulled a face. “Not sure where you’re getting that from, but no, you haven’t moved continents,” she replied. “We’re at Stark Tower.”

Clint twisted round to follow the blade of sunshine that had disturbed him. Sure enough the crack in the blinds revealed the city below. He was on the west side of the tower, if he remembered his skyline correctly, and at least eighty storeys high. Exactly _why_ he was at Stark Tower and not in a cell or padded room was still a mystery.

“I… okay. I’m waiting for the punch line here,” Clint admitted.

“No punch-line, Agent. How are you feeling? A little groggy, I assume?”

Great, sarcasm. That was all he needed. The unhelpful nurse then flashed a penlight in Clint’s eyes without prior warning. He didn’t care how attractive she was, it was just plain rude.

“You’re going to be just fine. Would you like me to remove the catheter now?”

Huh, so that’s what that was.

An awkward few minutes later, that particular job was done.

“How long have been asleep?” Clint asked. He’d have asked the question sooner had his head not been full of cotton wool, but there was nothing like having a catheter removed to wake a guy up and clear the old headspace.

“Five days,” the nurse replied, like it wasn’t a big deal.

“Five days?!” Clint repeated, somewhat pointlessly. The longest he’d slept before was 30 hours, after the Bolivia thing. Exhaustion and some long overdue leave had been the cause of that particular stint. Exhaustion was a likely candidate in this case too. It had been one hell of a ride. Loki was gone. Clint remembered the fight to claim back his own head. The son of a bitch had been there, gnawing away for so long, Clint had almost forgotten what it was like to be free of him. Did they know Loki was gone? Is that why he wasn’t restrained and cooped up in a cell in another nondescript SHIELD base?

“I’ll tell the relevant parties you’re awake.”

“Wait,” Clint called after her, trying to verbalise one of the dozens of questions he had yet to ask.

“Someone will be here to answer your questions shortly,” she said, never dropping her irritating smile. She accessed one of Stark’s control panels on the wall. The door slid open and closed behind her as she left. Could he do the same? Just walk out?

Clint swung his legs over the bed and stood up, unable to resist the overwhelming urge to stretch like he’d never stretched before. He felt new. No, not new. With Loki gone and his body apparently happy with no less than 120 hours of sleep, he felt like _himself_ again, before all this shit. That wasn’t to say he’d forgotten about the decisions he’d made along the way. Clint had made choices he was going to have to pay for; he knew that. What he didn’t know, or quite understand, was why he was in a swanky apartment in Stark Tower instead of a cold cell in Siberia or somewhere. Five days wasn’t quite long enough for Fury to have forgotten about the shit he’d pulled, so why the star treatment?

After getting some strength in his legs back, Clint wandered around the room, or rooms as it turned out. It wasn’t quite like any of the other spaces in Stark Tower. It looked newer, more streamlined. It was like a hotel suite, with all the amenities. Lounge, TV, power shower, the works. He had just found the kitchenette when there was a knock on the door. After a month of confinement, hearing someone request to see him was weirdly foreign.

“Uh, come in,” he said finally. He wasn’t sure who he expected it to be – Fury, maybe, with plane tickets to the Arctic, Natasha with a clenched fist and payback on the mind, the sarcastic nurse with a needle full of drugs (Clint still wasn’t convinced he was alive and/or dreaming) – whoever it was, he’d had little time to prepare. Time for a shower might have been nice.

When Bruce walked in, Clint’s breath caught in his throat. It was all he could do to refrain from embracing the scientist and kissing him till he needed air. But that wasn’t going to happen, certainly not judging by the unsure look on Bruce’s face. He looked as nervous as he did before their first date. It was heartbreaking.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi,” Clint replied. So far so good?

“I was just upstairs in the lab. I was the closest one to you so… I thought I’d…” Bruce cleared his throat. “So, you’re okay? The nurse said you’re okay.”

“Yeah, I’m good. I think,” Clint confirmed. “Loki’s gone,” he added. He thought he remembered telling someone that but he wasn’t sure.

“I know,” Bruce said. “Uh, we know. They’ve been doing regular scans of your brain since we found you. No traces left. You did it,” he said, smiling. “Congratulations.”

Clint hadn’t expected that. Why was Bruce being so nice? He didn’t deserve nice. “Are _you_ okay?” Clint asked. “I mean, is everyone okay? I just, I’m assuming they are, otherwise I wouldn’t be walking around a suite in Stark Tower that’s bigger than my _actual_ room at Stark Tower, but I could be wrong,” Clint started, and couldn’t seem to stop. “I mean, the thought crossed my mind that this could be some weird Loki-induced daydream happening in my head and I’m still sitting by a bomb underneath the arc reactor waiting to die or-”

“ _Clint_ ,” Bruce implored, cutting off the ramble. “Everyone’s fine,” he said clearly. “A little tenderised, and few broken bones. No major causalities. You disarmed the bomb, got rid of Loki, saved the day. You did good.”

“Somehow I doubt Fury sees it that way.” Clint let out a long breath. “Or you.” He looked at Bruce trying to gage a reaction but saw only uncertainty. “Bruce, I’m so sorry.” It wasn’t much but it was a start.

Bruce looked away and started walking further into the room. “What do you think of the place? It was Tony’s idea.”

It was obvious Bruce wasn’t quite ready to talk about the heavy stuff. Not wanting to push too hard, Clint went with it. “Oh, it’s uh… You know, I’m not exactly sure what this place _is_.”

“The nurse didn’t explain? It’s, how did Tony put it, ‘the most secure five star suite in either hemisphere.’” Bruce relayed. Clint could hear it in Stark’s voice.

So it was a cell. A pretty nice one, but still a cell. Clint wasn’t sure whether or not he should be happy about that.

“He built it into the tower so you didn’t have to go back to a cell,” Bruce continued. He was standing at the window now, looking out onto the city. “If I didn’t know any better I’d say he likes you.”

“Huh. Do you think if I broke his nose again he’d get me a motorcycle?” Clint joked. He was worried it might not have been in great taste but Bruce laughed, so he relaxed again.

“Fury wants you to stay here for a while, until he and the doctors are satisfied you’re Loki-free,” Bruce explained. “But, all signs point to yes,” he shrugged.

A while. Clint knew he had no right to be disheartened. It was a perfectly reasonable reaction, and this was beyond reasonable accommodation for a stint in quarantine, suspension, punishment, whatever you wanted to call it. He’d got off lightly. Tony building him a custom place that met Fury’s security standards? Clint didn’t quite know what he’d done to deserve such a gesture, but he was starting to think some of the things people said about Stark were way off.

“I don’t suppose ‘a while’ gets any more specific?” Clint asked in hope.

“A month,” Bruce clarified. “And you’ve already slept through five days, so you’re well on the way,” Bruce said, actually managing to sound positive. “You’ll be out in no time.”

Clint appreciated the effort and smiled.

It faded. “I messed everything up.”

“Clint…”

“No, please, I have to know what’s going through your head,” Clint pleaded. “You said everyone’s fine but I _know_ you’re not fine. Why would you be fine after what I did to you? So please, just let me have it. I deserve it.”

Bruce looked at him for a while, like he was trying to figure out a puzzle. “Okay,” he said eventually, but gave nothing away in his tone. He sat on the edge of the sofa, perching on the armrest. “I’ve had some time to think. _A lot_ of time to think.” He thought for a moment more before starting again. “The most awful thing about time-sharing with the Hulk is waking up and waiting to find out if I’ve hurt anyone, or worse. I’m sure you can relate, given your recent circumstances.”

Clint nodded, still holding his breath.

“It’s the reason I avoided getting close to anyone for a long, long time,” Bruce continued. “Being an Avenger is wonderful and god, _terrifying_. Being close to you… it’s the same. I mean, I knew it was a risk from the start but…” He sighed heavily. “There was a moment, when we found you by the bomb. We thought, _I_ thought you were dead, and I wasn’t quite prepared for what that felt like. And I guess it made me realise that I kinda love you.”

Clint’s heart practically stopped beating. If was one thing he was utterly unprepared to hear, it was that. There was no time to recover from the revelation, let alone reply as Bruce continued almost immediately.

“Which makes this even more difficult to figure out, because I _want_ to forgive you,” he said. “As terrifying as it is feeling like this, I don’t want to stop. I know there’s no way to tell if Loki was behind your decisions, even if it was subconsciously, but I looked into your eyes in that elevator and I saw you. Just you. And… you stuck me with a needle. You were the reason that the Other Guy came out. You talked the Hulk into helping you, and you couldn’t do the same for me. I don’t get that. I thought we trusted each other.”

Clint knew this was the first, best opportunity to explain himself, fix things or at least make a start. Which was a problem considering a/ Bruce had had five days to dwell on this all and Clint had all of ten minutes, and b/ Bruce had just admitted he loved him, which was the most amazing thing Clint had ever heard and he was losing the ability to form coherent thoughts.

The seconds were rolling on and Clint knew he had to say something. Anything. No, not anything, _say the right thing,_ _say all the right things and say you’re sorry and for the love of god don’t screw this up._

“I panicked,” Clint started, having decided on the spot that the truth was the best option. Probably. “When I realised that I’d set up that bomb, that all those lives were at risk because of me, I panicked,” he elaborated. “Breaking out to try and fix it might not have been the best decision I’ve ever made but I thought it was the right one. And I don’t know if it makes any sense but I had to do it alone.” Clint shook his head. “God, that makes me sound like a stubborn asshole, but it’s the truth.”

Clint remembered vividly how he felt. The decisions had felt like his own. Blaming Loki would be the easy way out and Bruce deserved better than that. What would be the point in founding their relationship on mistrust when that was what was threatening to tear it apart?

“You and I both know what it’s like to be responsible for hurting people,” Clint continued. “That guilt was the reason Loki wormed his way back into my head in the first place. It’s strong stuff. I couldn’t let anyone else get hurt because of me. I couldn’t handle it. So I made a decision, a horrible, dickish decision: to protect you from my mistakes. In retrospect, it was a pretty dumb idea for a lot of reasons but that’s why I did it. It wasn’t easy and I don’t expect your forgiveness but I’d really like to try and earn it, however long that might take. Because I love you too. For what it’s worth.”

Clint realised he’d been pacing and came to a halt. It came as no surprise that returning Bruce’s words had come so easily. It was obvious, now he’d said it. Of course he loved Bruce. That intoxicating, stupid, puppy-eyed, fantastical kind of stuff had been there for a while already, and now all the drama and weight was gone he could see it as clear as day.

Bruce was looking up at him, dumbstruck. “Wow.”

Clint knew how he felt. This was some pretty heavy stuff. It was like they were watching a series finale and it was time for the credits to roll, except this was reality and things had a tendency to carry on without months of waiting in between. “Yeah,” was all he could think of to say.

“You know, it took me five days to come up with my speech,” Bruce said. “You _just_ woke up. That’s really not fair.”

Clint broke into a smile. “I tend to suck at stuff like this,” he denied.

“Well, it didn’t suck,” Bruce said.

It was supposed to be different when two people said I love you. Kissing, smiling, bells ringing, fireworks, that kind of thing. But maybe that was just for normal people. Clint knew it was entirely his own fault that the moment hadn’t been as perfect as it should have been. All he could do was take ‘it didn’t suck’ as a small glimmer of hope for the future. “So… what now?” he asked after a few moment’s silence.

“I don’t know,” Bruce admitted. He stood up after a moment. “Everyone’s going to want to see you,” he said, back to pretending everything was okay. “They’ll be pleased you’re awake. You’re probably going to be in debriefings for the next millennia…”

“Right,” Clint said. Bruce was smiling and so was he, but it wasn’t quite the smile he’d been hoping for. “So, did I miss anything else while I was lazing around? Five days is a lot of time for the world to get itself into trouble.”

“Nah, you didn’t miss much,” Bruce said. “I did start watching Fringe though,” he offered.

Clint smirked. “You did? And?”

“I like it,” Bruce said, smiling too. “I spent a lot time correcting it, but…”

“I knew you would.”

Bruce looked like he wanted to say more, but couldn’t find the words. “I should go.”

Clint’s heart sank. Bruce wandered towards the door but stopped and turned when he reached it.

“Um… I’m up to the series finale,” he said, not quite as shy as he had been the first time he’d run into Clint at four thirty in the morning, but close. “It’s a two-parter. Maybe we can watch it together. You know, once you’re out of debrief hell.”

Clint felt a little lighter all of a sudden. “I’d like that.”

“Okay.” Bruce smiled, closer to happy than Clint had seen him since he walked in. “I’ll see you later.” He typed in a code to open the door and left.

Clint stared at the space Bruce had occupied, not quite sure what he was supposed to do with himself. He didn’t know that he deserved the second chance he’d been given but planned to do everything in his power to earn it. Whatever Fury had in store, he would take it with a ‘yes, Sir, happy to, Sir’. He’d serve his time (in the five-star cell that Stark had lost his mind and built him), and not utter a word of complaint about it. He’d get out and pay his many dues. It felt like an ending and a beginning.

Clint was about to turn away from the door when it opened again.

Bruce swept back into the room. He did not stop until he was right in front of Clint. “You know what? Your speech was _really_ good.”

Bruce’s lips were on his; Bruce’s hands were in his hair. Clint fell into it like it was a dream he wanted to get back to.

When they finally parted they stayed close. Bruce rested his forehead on Clint’s. “Mm… I love you,” he said.

“I love you too,” Clint replied.

Bruce smiled. “That’s better.”

Clint knew what he meant.

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

Briefing hell lasted several hours. Clint made it through with various energy drinks, the thought of seeing Bruce again and the fear of Natasha’s revenge. After her visit to his new security digs, and having given him the customary dead leg for almost dying, she had informed Clint that her payback for deeds committed would not be one large event, but rather several dozen smaller affairs, and that she would unleash them when he least suspected it. It didn’t matter if she went through with them or not; Clint’s constant state of fear was payback enough for his supposed best friend. He didn’t complain.

Fury wasn’t as angry as Clint expected him to be. There was still a hell of a lot of yelling, of course, but there was no mention of relocating to colder climates. He confirmed what Bruce had told him, that after a month’s medical leave he could return to the Avengers under supervision. Clint knew it was a good deal, considering. After the arduous talking to, Fury finally took a breath and handed over an envelope.

“A breakdown of costs, as per our previous conversation,” he said, a sardonic smile on his face.

“Sir?” Clint asked, not following. He opened the envelope and pulled out several sheets of paper. He scanned it and picked out a few phrases. _‘Mercedes SLR McLaren’_ , _‘store triple glazed window front and fascia’, ‘damage to electricity pylons R23 through R67’._ Theseand a whole lot of dollar signs dotted about the place gave Clint a bad feeling. “Is this…?”

“A bill for the damage the Hulk caused a direct result of you being a dick,” Fury said, smiling. “As discussed.”

The Director went on his way. Clint wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry and ask Tony for a loan.

When Clint was finally free from Fury’s clutches, he was led back to his room (it was far too nice a place to call it a cell, he decided). Bruce was waiting, a smile on his face. Clint was about to press his own smile against it when Bruce nodded his head towards the lounge area.

The Avengers had assembled, and they had beer.

It seemed Steve was finally ready for Die Hard 4.0, and an introduction to Star Wars before all the pop culture spoilers took his film innocence.

“They wanted to come, I hope you don’t mind,” Bruce said on one of their stealth missions to reheat more popcorn.

“Are you kidding? This is great,” Clint said, and meant it. Even if Bruce had organised the extra company himself to avoid being alone, it was all good. Clint didn’t expect things to go straight back to the way they were. He knew it would take time to rebuild the trust between them, but the fact Bruce was willing to give the chance to do so meant the world. However long it took, whatever it took.

“We totally need to video the moment Cap and Thor find out Vader is Luke’s father,” Clint said in a hushed tone.

“Tony’s way ahead of you,” Bruce replied under his breath, and moved closer. “I think he’s already started live-tweeting the whole thing.”

Clint took his place on the sofa and was got teenage kicks when Bruce sat next to him and took his hand.

Somewhere during A New Hope, Clint managed to catch up with Tony raiding the kitchen. After some small talk about how the live-tweeting was going (Tony’s twitter was being watched by several hundred thousand people eagerly anticipating the big reaction shot), Clint decided it was a good time to start all the apologising he had to do. Bruce was off the list, Natasha had forgiven him with addendums, now it was Tony’s turn.

“Hey, man, sorry I tried to kill you. And stole your stuff. And broke your nose. And tried to blow up your tower.”

“What, don’t tell me you couldn’t find an appropriate card for all that?” Tony replied, traditionally sarcastic.

“They were fresh out,” Clint returned. It was difficult being honest with Stark, and Clint knew sincerity wasn’t Tony’s forte either, but it needed to be said. “Seriously, I don’t know why you built this thing or helped with the uh, _other thing_ , but thanks. I owe you one.”

Tony shrugged. “Or four,” he corrected, but there was no spite in his tone.

“Sure, four’s good,” Clint replied, grinning.

Tony was about to head back to the lounge when Clint remembered something else he had been meaning to ask Stark about.

“Oh, there was one other thing,” Clint said.

Tony stopped and turned to listen.

“When you switched the camera’s that day while Bruce was, uh… visiting… You didn’t… see anything, maybe accidentally record…”

Tony took a breath and shrugged. “Okay, so technically I suppose you only owe me _three._ ”

Clint threw a bag of chips at his head.

“Kidding! I was kidding!”

One epic trilogy finally digested, the night came to an end. Clint had slept through most of the last two movies, but was rudely awakened when Natasha threw a cushion at him. Steve said goodnight and left with Natasha following shortly after. Tony gave Clint discrete instructions on how to view porn channels and access the internet, for which Clint gave awkward thanks. Which left Thor and Bruce.

“Good night, Clint Barton,” Thor said, looking no worse for wear despite it being somewhere in the early AM. “I am glad you are well again.”

“Listen, Thor…” Clint began, subconsciously rubbing the back of his neck. It seemed a good a time as any to clear the air. “About what I said to you during the experiment, when I said there wasn’t any hope for you understanding Loki...”

Thor’s smile faded a little. “You do not have to placate me, Clint Barton. You told me the truth.”

“That’s just it, I don’t think it was the truth,” Clint told him. “Loki wasn’t really in my head. I kinda got the 2D version. All hate, no waiting. I’m not your brother’s biggest fan, but it’s not my place to tell you there’s no hope. I know how… complicated having a brother can be. I guess what I’m trying to say is… I’m sorry about what you’re going through. And I get it,” he finished, hoping his rambling made some kind of sense.

Thor looked solemn for a moment, then proceed to give Clint a hug that might have killed him if he hadn’t managed a strangled ‘thanks, buddy.’ Thor let go and slapped him on the back, a huge smile gracing his features.

“I appreciate your words, Clint Barton. You are a good friend. I look forward to fighting by your side again. And I here there are more Wars in the Stars to see! Tomorrow is good day for this, no?”

“Yeah, we’ll see,” Clint replied, thankful that Thor was in good spirits. Clint wondered how anyone could grow up with a brother like him and turn out like Loki. Shortly after he decided to not think about Loki again for a really long time.

And then there were two.

“So, that was fun,” Bruce said, stretching his arms in front of him, then behind. “The parts of it I was awake for, anyway.”

“You too?” Clint smirked. “I could hardly keep my eyes open.”

“We’re going to have to start these movie nights a lot earlier,” Bruce agreed.

After a few moments of silence, Clint took a breath. “So, I guess this is the part where we say good night,” he said, trying to make it a little easier or a little less awkward, whichever came first.

Bruce’s brow furrowed. “I sensed that it was time to go, but I seem to be having trouble leaving.”

“You are?”

Bruce stepped closer and put his arms on Clint’s hips. “Mm-hm.”

Clint suddenly didn’t feel so tired.

“I know we have a few issues to work out, but I figure there no reason why we can’t work them out… _on the go_ , right? I mean, the world could need saving at any minute. Life’s really too short to…”

Clint, who had been nodding throughout the speech, couldn’t help himself any longer. He pressed his smile against Bruce’s mouth, who welcomed the gestured with open lips.

Clint felt like he was finally heading in the right direction, and not just towards the bedroom. With patience and work he was in with a chance of having everything he ever wanted. Someone to love who loved him back, a family of friends, a kick-ass job… there was still a chance he was dreaming. It was definitely a possibility, considering nakedness was happening, and Bruce’s smile was lighting up the room.

“I missed you,” he breathed into Clint’s mouth.

“I love you,” Clint replied.

Bruce pulled him onto the bed. “Mm, that too.”

They fell into each other as if they had never been apart.

What was left of the morning slinked by in waves of pleasure, punctuated by catnaps, pillow talk and spooning, which Clint decided he could never get enough of. Falling asleep tangled in Bruce’s arms was like a reward he would spend the rest of days trying to deserve. If this was what the rest of his month’s confinement was going to be like, leaving was going to the difficult part.

As it was, the month went quicker than Clint could have imagined. He was never alone. The Avengers assembled (and sometimes brought guests) every few evenings for pop culture catch-ups and sometimes air hockey or Super Mario tournaments (Clint never knew what they would turn up with next).

Bruce was the most frequent visitor. He and Clint talked about working through their trust issues and decided it would also be a good idea to continue meditating together, even though Loki was most definitely gone for good. Sometimes they even got through it _without_ it ending in a make-out session on one of Bruce’s yoga mats. Sometimes they made love, sometimes they fucked, sometimes they were perfectly content to hold each other and work their way through Fringe boxsets.

After the month was over, Clint was released into the wild, under the Avenger’s careful (relaxed) supervision. They threw him a ‘Congratulations On Not Being Insane Anymore’ party, complete with banner, balloons and cake. Clint knew it was down to each one of them that he wasn’t out on his ass. The Avengers had never felt more like family.

SHIELD was still a little wary, which Clint knew was to be expected. Where possible, he apologised to the agents who had been most affected by his actions: the doctor he’d put a hole in, Dr. Wilde and his blonde assistant (Chris, nice guy), Roberts and Goldman, Marlowe, the list was pretty long but he got through it. Some of the agents told him to go screw himself, but most of them sort of understood why he’d done the things he’d done and agreed to let bygones be bygones. Clint called it a win, overall. He wasn’t exactly Mr. Popularity _before_ this whole thing happened, after all.

A few hours into the shindig Tony was telling Clint and Bruce how many hits the now viral video of Cap and Thor’s Star Wars reaction had when Natasha interrupted.

“Mind if I borrow the man of hour for a bit?” she asked, mostly directing the question at Bruce.

“Be my guest,” he said.

Clint deferred a goodbye kiss in favour of a goodbye ass-slap, in reaction to which Bruce went adorably red. Clint loved being able to make him do that. He grinned and followed Natasha away from the party.

She took him to the shooting range and there presented Clint with his bow.

“I made sure to maintain it while you were away,” she said. “I didn’t let anybody else near it.”

Clint would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about this moment on and off since his incarceration. His baby, his favourite bow, beautiful as ever. To hold it again, draw back and release…

“Take it then, idiot, what are you waiting for?” Natasha laughed, pushing it into his hands.

Clint grinned and took it. The weight and the feel of the grip were just as he remembered. It was like a part of him had returned. He traced his fingers along the limbs, causing Natasha to raise an eyebrow.

“I’d offer to leave you two alone but it _is_ supposed to be your first day under supervision. And you do have a boyfriend now, remember?”

Clint smirked. “I can’t get used to that,” he said, shaking his head.

“Being a boyfriend or having one?” Natasha asked.

“Both,” Clint admitted. “Just hope I don’t mess it up this time.”

“You’d better not, you can’t afford it. Literally. Are you gonna shoot, or what?” Natasha said, nudging his shoulder.

Clint took an arrow from the case on the table and got into position. He nocked the arrow and drew back the string. It felt as good as he remembered.

Clint smiled and hit his target front and centre.

Natasha smiled too. “Welcome home.”

 

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

The Avengers saved the world no less than twice more that year, the first incident occurring a month after Clint was officially declared fully fit for duty without supervision. By that time, he and Bruce were in a good place (and had experienced some good times in a lot of good places too), the video of Thor and Steve watching Star Wars had achieved almost thirty million views and counting, much to Fury’s chagrin. Natasha had yet to exact any revenge other than allowing Clint’s paranoia to build to inhumane levels. The Hulk, instead of giving Clint the ass-kicking he’d promised, had taken to calling him ‘Cupid’. Everyone thought it was hilarious. Clint thought it was kind of sweet.

 

End of Final Chapter


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